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CHOICE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 

EDITED BY WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 



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This series of the best autobiographies is prepared especially 
for general reading. Each life is prefaced with a critical and 
biographical essay by Mr. Howells, in which the sequel of the 
author's history is given, together with collateral matter from 
other sources, illustrative of his period and career. In some 
cases the autobiographies are reduced in bulk by the rejection 
of uninteresting and objectionable matter. It is designed to 
include in the series the famous autobiographies of all lan- 
guages, and to offer in a compact and desirable edition all that 
is best in this most charming of all literature. 



JAMES R. OSaOOD & CO., Pnhlishers, Boston. 



A UTOBIO GRAPH Y. 



MEMOIRS 



EDWARD GIBBON, Esq. 



WITH AN ESSAY 

By WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. 




BOSTON": 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Ca 

1877. 






COPYRIGHT, 

W. D. HOWELLS. 

1877. 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
Cambridge. 




EDWARD GIBBON. 




HE Muse of History is a worldly personage, 
who frequently reserves her favors for dev- 
otees in easy circumstances. The pushing 
aspirants who seize the prizes of poetry, fic- 
tion, music, the drama, and the other arts, in which 
genius is required, are apt to be snubbed by this 
more exclusive lady, whose cult demands long prepa- 
ration, costly outlays, and ample leisure. She shows to 
gentlemen of leisure and elegant culture a polite art, 
one of the very politest, in which industry and perse- 
verance are enough for success and fame, and too often 
she seems to exact nothing more. A man may not 
say that he will be a great poet or a great novelist ; 
but with education, money, and time, one may resolve 
without unexampled presumption to be a great histo- 
rian. To be sure, this results in many cases in making 
great historians what they are : gieatest when unread, 
and the most perishable of the immortals. They have 
so seldom, indeed, been true literary artists, that one 
has a certain hesitation in pronouncing any historian a 
man of genius, and it is with a lasting surprise that 
one recognizes in the greatest of historians one of the 



6 EDWARD GIBBON. 

greatest of geniuses, a writer who possessed in prose, 
above any other Englishman of his time, the shaping 
hand; and who moulded the vast masses of his subject 
into forms of magnificent beauty, giving to their colos- 
sal pomp a finish for which there is no word but ex- 
quisite. 

Yet I think one disposed to be the most sparing of 
the phrase is quite safe in calling the historian of the 
*' Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" a man of 
genius; not for what he has done for history, but what 
he has done for literature, in showing that no theme is 
so huge but that art may proportion it and adorn it 
till it charms ; the work which lastingly charms being 
always and alone the proof of genius. When one 
turns to his mighty achievement from other histories, 
one feels that it is really as incomparable for its noble 
manner as for the grandeur of the story it narrates. 
That story assumes at his touch the majestic forms, 
the lofty movement, of an epic ; its advance is rhyth- 
mical ; in the strong pulse of its antitheses is the fire and 
life of a poetic sense ; its music, rich and full, has a 
martial vigor, its colors are the blazons of shields and 
banners. One knows very well that this style would 
be ridiculous applied to a minor theme ; the fact is felt 
throughout Gibbon's Memoirs, where he apparently 
cannot unbend from the high historic attitude ; though 
even there, when the thought is eloquent, the lan- 
guage stirs the reader's blood by its matchless fitness. 
One is aware, too, that the polysyllabic port of the 
Johnsonian diction has been the mock of vengeful gen- 
erations, escaping from its crushing weight ; yet after 
the thinness and pallor of much conscious simplicity of 
later date, its Latin affluence has a deep satisfaction ; 
and though none could ever dream of writing such a 



EDWARD GIBBON. 7 

style again, yet its use by Gibbon was part of the in- 
spiration with which he wrought his whole work, and 
gave its magnitude that brilliant texture and thorough 
solidity which are even more wonderful than its mag- 
nitude. 

The history of the Decline and Fall remains unap- 
proached fi>r qualities of great artistry, but not un- 
approachable. It needs merely an equal genius in 
future historians, to make every passage of the human 
epic as nobly beautiful. Its author was indefinitely 
more than a gentleman of fortune, though he was also 
this, and frankly glories in the fact in that Autobiog- 
raphy,* whose involuntary pomps are now so quaint, 
(for he promises that ^^the style shall be simple and 
famiUar,") and he enters with relish upon a brief ac- 
count of his ancestors whose ^' chief honor " was Baron 
Say and Seale, Lord High Treasurer of Henry the Sixth. 
This nobleman was beheaded by the Kentish insurgents, 
and his blood seems to have set forever the Tory tint 
in the politics of the Gibbons. One amusing forefather 
of the historian, who visited Virginia, had such a pas- 
sion for heraldry that it caused him to see in the tokens 
with which the naked bodies of the savages were 
painted, a proof that '' heraldry was grafted naturally 

* The story of Gibbon's life as he himself tells it was first given to the 
world by his friend, Lord Sheffii^ld, who included it among the author's 
Miscellaneous Works in an edition published after his death. Tie 
had left six sketclies of several periods of his life; he Avas apparently 
quite satisfied with none of them; they varied in form, and were written 
without regard to order of time. Lord Sheffield put them together, »cru- 
pulously respecting the tex , and where they were too meagre, he sup- 
plied material from the author's journals, and himself appended the 
notes, signed with an S. in this edition. He continued GiI)bon's life from 
the point at which the Memoir leaves it, up to the time of his death, and 
he published with it a large number of his letters, running in date from 
1756 to 1793; he preferred thus to let the author, as far as possible, tell 
his own story. 



8 EDWARD GIBBON. 

into tlie sense of the human race ^^ ; succeeding Gib- 
bons were Royalists and Jacobites ] and the historian 
himself, in whom the name was extinguished, honored 
its traditions in his abhorrence of the American Eebels 
and the French Revolutionists. 

Gibbon's childhood was sickly, and it was not till 
his sixteenth year that his health became firm enough 
to permit him a regular course of study. In the mean 
time he had lost his mother, the efi'ect of whose early 
death upon his father he describes in such afiecting 
language, and he remained in the care of a maiden 
aunt. He had always been more in her care than in 
that of his mother, and now she made her helpless 
charge very much her companion and friend, directing 
his English studies and watching oA'er his delicate 
health with all a mother's devotion. His schooling 
had been intermittent and desultory, and he had but a 
little Latin and no Greek at the age when ^^ Nature 
displayed in his favor her mysterious energies," and 
his disorders ^^ wonderfully vanished." He was then 
taken from a careless and idle tutor by his father, and 
suddenly entered at Oxford, of which ancient univer- 
sity the reader will find an amusingly contemptuous ac- 
count in his Autobiography. Though no scholar, he 
had always been an omnivorous reader. He arrived 
at Oxford, as he says, ^^ with a stock of erudition that 
might have puzzled a doctor, and a degree of ignorance 
of which a school-boy would have been ashamed," and 
he% quitted Magdalen College after fourteen months, 
^*the most idle and unprofitable of his whole life," — 
spent under professors who did not lecture and tutors 
who did not teach, but drowsed away a learned leisure 
in monkish sloth and Jacobitish disloyalty. ^^ Tory 
politics, personal anecdotes, and private scandal " were 



EDWARD GIBBON. 9 

the talk with which the fellows of Magdalen College 
astonished the ingenuous young gentleman -commoner. 
It was not unnatural that in his uncontrolled and ap- 
parently undirected endeavor he should resolve to write 
a hook, which happened to be ^^ The Age of Sesostris," 
still unfinished if ever begun ^ nor was it quite strange 
that such a youth should turn fi'om the bigoted indiffer- 
ence of his alma mater, in spiritual affairs, to the great 
mother-church. At any rate, Gibbon became at seven- 
teen an ardent Catholic, through pure force of his own 
reasoning and reading ; a conversion which necessarily 
resulted in his leaving Oxford at once, and in his being 
presently sent to Lausanne, in Switzerland, where he 
was placed by his incensed father in the family of the 
Calvinist pastor, Pavilliard. His new faith did not 
long withstand the wise and careful approaches of this 
excellent man, who found his charge exceedingly well- 
read in the controversial literature of the subject, and 
who chose silently to let him convict himself of one 
illogical position after another, rather than openly and 
constantly to combat him. Upon new premises, Gib- 
bon reasoned himself out of Romanism as he had rea- 
soned himself into it. These changes from faith to 
faith may have had something to do with unsettling all 
belief in his mind ] but it is not a point upon which he 
himself touches, and he seems to have re-embraced in 
all sincerity the Protestant religion. The letters which 
the Pasteur Pavilliard wrote from time to time concern- 
ing the progress of his conversion to Gibbon's father 
are of curious interest, and paint m suggestive touches 
not only the mental character of the studious, con- 
scientious, dutiful lad, but that of his firm and gentle 
guardian. They are glimpses that show them both in 
a very pleasing light, and one would fain know more 



10 EDWAKD GIBBON. 

of the simple Swiss pastor^ for whom Gibbon always 
retained a grateful reverence, though Madame Pavil- 
liard's coarse and stinted table he remembered long 
after with lively disgust. 

Under PaviiJiard's direction he made great advances 
in learning, and fully repaired the losses of his sickly 
childhood and the months wasted at Oxford. His 
reading, which was always wide enough, gained in- 
definitely in depth ; and this English boy, writing from 
an obscure Swiss town, could maintain a correspondence 
with the first scholars of France and Germany, in which 
they treated him with the distinction due his learning. 
It was not the education of a gentleman which Gibbon, 
loving the English ideal of the public school and the 
university, would have desired for himself, but it was 
thorough training, and it was full of the delight of a 
purely voluntary pursuit. He wholly disused his mother 
tongue during his four years' sojourn at Lausanne, and 
magnificently as he afterwards wrote it, one can see 
by various little turns that he wrote it always with 
something of a subtle foreigner's delight in the superb 
instrument, rather than a native's perfect unconscious- 
ness. He had, in fact, grown French-Swiss during 
these years, and at the bottom of his heart he remained 
so, preferring to end his life in the little city under the 
Alps, in which he spent the happiest period of his youth, 
and which he loved better, w4th its simple and blame- 
less social life, than the great capital of the English 
world. For a long time after his return to England, 
he looked to the Continent for the public which he 
aspired to please ; his first publication was wTitten in 
French, that he might the more directly reach this 
public, and he imagined several histories in that tongue 
before he used himself, or reconciled himself, to his 
alienated English. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 11 

He came home not only estranged in language, — this 
his father could have borne, — but in love and in the 
hope of marriage with the daughter of the pastor of 
Grassy, Mademoiselle Susan Curchod, and this his father 
could not endure. He peremptorily forbade the match, 
and Gibbon, whose obedience was always somewhat 
timid, and was in this case perhaps too exemplary, re- 
cords with his usual neat antithesis : '^ After a painful 
struggle I yielded to my fate ; I sighed as a lover, I 
obeyed as a son. My wound was insensibly healed by 
time, absence, and the habits of a new life.'' 

The historian tells us, in touching upon this passage 
of his life, that he ^' hesitates from an apprehension of 
ridicule, when he approaches the delicate subject of his 
early love," and in fact it is not easy to forbear the 
starting smile, though perhaps for a different reason 
from that supposed. The ardor of the suitor who sighs 
as a lover while he obeys as a son, and whose wound 
is insensibly healed by time, absence, and the habits 
of a new life, is certainly not of the heroic sort. It is 
indeed a passion of too prudent a kind not to be a little 
comical. Mademoiselle Curchod, like himself, had for 
the healing of her wound, also, time, absence, and the 
habits of a new life : her father died, she must leave 
Crassy and go to Geneva, where she '^ earned a hard 
subsistence for herself and her mother " by teaching 
young ladies. One does not read with quite the com- 
posure of the man who left her to this lot his praises 
of the nobility with which she bore adversity, while he 
was sighing as a lover and obeying as a son. Mademoi- 
selle Curchod, who, as he tells us, '' in her lovA^est dis- 
tress maintained a spotless reputation and a dignified 
behavior," became the wife of the great Necker and 
the mother of the great Madame de Stael, '^and in the 



12 EDWARD GIBBON. 

capital of taste and luxury she resisted the temptations 
of wealth, as she had sustained the hardships of indi- 
gence.'^ Her old lover visited her more than once in 
her exalted stiition as the wife of the minister upon 
whom the whole fcibric of the French monarchy rested, 
and was always treated with the confidence which a 
man who had obeyed as a son while he sighed as a 
lover truly meiited. M. Necker, fatigued with the 
cares of office, used to go to bed and leave his wife 
tete-a-tete with the undangerous lover of her youth. 
One smiles at such a close for love's young dream, 
and yet in its time the passion was no doubt a sweet 
and tender idyl. Swiss society had, in Gibbon's day, 
all the blameless freedom and innocent charm of the 
society in an American town. The young ladies of 
Lausanne met at each other's houses without chaperon- 
age of any sort, '^ among a crowd of young men of 

every nation of Europe They laughed, they 

sang, they danced, they played at cards, they acted 
comedies; but in the midst of this careless gayety 
they respected themselves and were respected by the 
men." In such perfect ease and unrestraint Gibbon 
met this young girl, — a local prodigy of learning, as 
beautiful as she w^as learned, and as good as she 
was beautiful, — and won the true and great heart 
which he suffered himself to lose. In his journal, 
mingled with the record of his studies, are such entries 
as: ^^I saw Mademoiselle Curchod — Omnia vmcit 
amor J et nos cedamus amorV^ ^^ I went to Grassy and 
stayed two days." ^^I came back to Lausanne, having 
passed through Grassy.'^ '^ Saw Mademoiselle Curchod 
on my way through Rolle." ^^ I went to Grassy, and 
stayed there three days." What raptures these simple 
memoranda l^nt, and how dreary a void in his life is 



EDWAED GIBBOX. 13 

suggested by the historian's future recurrences to the 
sole passion of his life I He never loved, nor thought 
of loving, any other woman ; his hurt was not bravely 
received, but apparently it was incurable. From time 
to time he speaks in his letters to Lord Sheffield, after 
the death of the old friend with whom he went to live 
in Lausanne, of having a young girl, his relative, to 
cheer his lonely years and inherit his wealth, but he 
lived solitary to the end, and a valet smoothed his 
dying pillow. 

It was some seven years after he exhaled his last 
sigh as a lover that Gibbon first met Madame Xecker, 
who had then been not a great while married. ' ' The 
Curchod I saw in Paris. She was very fond of me,'' 
he writes to Lord Sheffield, ^^ and the husband particu- 
larly civil. Could they insult me more cruelly f Ask 
me every evening to supper ] go to bed and leave me 
alone with his wife, — what an impertinent security ! 
It is making an old lover of mighty httle consequence. 
She is as handsome as ever, and much genteeler; 
seems pleased with her fortune rather than proud of it. 
I was (perhaps indiscreetly enough) exalting Mariette 
dTllens's good luck and the fortune. ' What fortune ?' 
said she with an air of contempt, — ^ not above twenty 
thousand livres a year.' I smiled, and she caught her- 
self immediately. ' What airs I give myself in despis- 
ing twenty thousand livres a year, who a year ago looked 
upon eight hundred a year as the summit of my wishes.' " 
On her part, " I do not know," writes Madame Xecker 
to a friend at Lausanne, in a letter quoted by Sainte- 
Beuve, ^'if I have told you that I have seen Gibbon. 
I have enjoyed that pleasure beyond expression ) not 
that I have any lingering sentiment for a man who, I 
think, merits none at all," — how keen is the resent- 



14 ED^YARD GIBBO:^. 

uient unsheathed for a moment ! — ^^ but my feminine 
A^anity has never had a completer, a juster triumph. 
He staid two Aveeks at Paris; I had him every day 
with me; he has become gentle^ pliant, humble, mod- 
est to bashfulness. Perpetual witness of the tenderness 
of my husband, of his genius, and of his happiness, a 
zealous admirer of opulence, he made me notice for the 
first time that which surrounds me.'^ How these deli- 
cate touches insinuate the man ! ^' He has become hum- 
ble, .... azealousadmirer of opulence/' who makes her 
realize that she is rich ! Was the great Mr. Gibbon, 
then, what is called in the more monosyllabic English 
of our day a snob ? One fears that in some degree he 
was so, if Madame Xecker was right, and not merely 
resentful. They remained always friends and often 
correspondents. Ten years later we find him writing 
to Lord Shefiield from London, where the Neckers 
then were: '' At present I am busy Avith the Keekers. 
I live with her just as I used to do twenty years ago, 
laugh at her Paris varnish, and oblige her to become a 
simple^ reasonable Suissesse." At Paris, where he is 
again in 1777, the Neckers are his ^'principal depen- 
dence.'^ *^ I do not indeed lodge in their house, but I 
live very much with them, and dine and sup whenever 
they have company, which is almost every day, and 
whenever I like, for they are not in the least exigeans.^^ 
Mr. Walpole had introduced him to the famous Madame 
du Deffand, ^' an agreeable young lady of eighty-two," 
who writes him many civilities after his return home. 
^' I have supped once as a third with the Neckers, and 
have had Madame Necker once at my house. We 
have spoken of Mr. Gibbon, and what else f Of Mr. 
Gibbon, always of Mr. Gibbon." 

This was when the Neckers were at the height of 



EDWARD GIBBON. 15 

their power and prosperity. AYhen poor Louis XVT., 
the kindest, the imluckiest of his race, made his first 
great mistake in allowing Maurepas to force Necker 
to a resignation, Gibhon saw his old love once more 
at Lausanne, where they passed the summer of 1784. 
*^ They afford a new example that persons who have 
tasted of greatness can seldom return with pleasure to a 

private station Her health is impaired by the 

agitation of her mind, .... and our last parting was 
very solemn, as I very much doubt whether I shall ever 
see her again. They have now a very troublesome 

charge Mademoiselle Necker " — afterwards 

Madame de Stael — ' ^ one of the greatest heiresses in 
Europe, is now about eighteen, wild, vain, but good- 
natured, and with a much larger provision of wit than 
of beauty ] what increases their difficuhies is their re- 
ligious obstinacy of marrying her to a Protestant. It 
would be an excellent opportunity for a young Eng- 
lishman of a great name and a fair reputation." But 
Mademoiselle Necker was not destined to marry an 
Englishman, as Mademoiselle Curchod in her time was 
not ; and Madame Necker lived to meet her old lover 
again in 1790, when, after Necker's recall and final 
downfall in that of the monarchy, they retired to Copet, 
and she '^ maintained more external composure " than 
he, whom Gibbon found in better spirits tlie next year. 
They pressed him to pass some weelvs at their house 
in Geneva, which he afterwards did ^' most agreeably," 
what with 'Hhe freedom of the morning, the society of 
the table and drawing-room .... in a round of tlie 
best company, and .... a private supper of free and 
friendly conversation." He then saw more of Necker's 
mind than ever before. ^^ All that I saw is fair and 
worthy In the mean while he is abused by all 



16 EDWARD GIBBOIT. 

parties, and none of the French m Geneva will set their 
foot in his house." Again in 1793 he visited the Neckers, 
and the next year, when he died in London, was the 
last year of her life. 

Something very high, A'ery pure, very nohle, charac- 
terized her always, and amidst the corrupt and brill- 
iant society of which she became a leader, and to the 
good qualities of which she did justice, she was hon> 
ored for the virtues which few others practised. ^' Her 
faults," says Sainte-Beuve, ^' were not French faults" ; 
she wanted tact, and sometimes she wanted taste, but 
she never wanted principle, nor a generous mind by 
which to judge people and conditions so unexpectedly 
and wholly new to her as those of Paris. ^^AVhen I 
came to this country," she wrote back to a friend iu 
Lausanne, ^'I thought that literature was the key to 
everything, that meu cultivated their minds only by 
books, and were great only through knowledge," and 
this sentence, which so perfectly characterizes the 
young, unworldly, enthusiastic country-girl, also indi- 
cates how great was the work before her, — to remodel 
all her standards and criterions, to make herself over. 
Sainte-Beuve believes that her health first began to 
sink under the anxieties and disappointments of this 
effort. She lamented that she did not even know the 
language of society, that she hurt people's self-love 
when she meant to flatter it. '■ What is called frank- 
ness in Switzerland is egotism in Paris," she says. 
She saw that there her old ideas were all wrong ; and, 
as she says, she hid away her little capital and began 
working for a living. It must have been by A^ery hard 
work indeed that she made herself acceptable to the 
circle of philosophers and literati whom her husband's 
distinction drew about her, but she did so, and most 



EDWAKD GIBBON. 17 

acceptable to the best men among them. Better than 
this, she entered, with her Swiss zeal and practical good- 
ness, upon a life of beneficence as well as social emi- 
nence. The Paris hospitals were savage lairs, in 
which the sick were herded together without comfort 
or decency, and she founded a hospital of her own 
which still bears her name ; her husband, proud of its 
success, mentioned it in his official reports to the king, 
and this fondness made the Parisians laugh. Her 
most intimate friends, too, had their reserves to the 
last, which Marmontel at least has but too keenly ex- 
pressed. To his thinking, she had not the air of the 
world ; she had not taste in dress, nor an easy manner, 
nor an attractive politeness ; her mind and her face 
were too formal for grace. But, on the other hand, she 
had propriety, candor, kindness, and culture. Her 
tastes were from her opinions, not from her feelings. 
She was a devoted hostess, and eagerly strove to please 
her guests, but **even her amusements had their rea- 
son, their method, .... all was premeditated, nothing 
flowed naturally.^^ If much of the schoolmistress, in 
fine, lingered in this great-hearted and good woman, 
Gibbon apparently never saw it. In all that he says 
of her there is imaginable a sunset light from his 
early and only love, — from the days when the ingenu- 
ous young Englishman saw the Swiss pastor's daughter 
in the blossom of '^ that beauty, pure, virginal, which, '^ 
as Sainte-Beuve says, ^Mias need of the first youth, '^ 
with her lovely face '* animated by a brilliant freshness, 
and softened by her blue eyes, full of candor.'^ Her 
married life was in the highest degree happy ; she and 
her husband reciprocally admired and adored each other; 
and it m^ust have been with a sense of the perplexing 
unreality of all past experience that she saw her old 



18 EDWARD GIBBON. 

unworthy lover re-enter her world, and grow year by 
year more famous and more enormously fat in the 
naiTowing circle of her life. What perpetual curi- 
osity, what generous pity, must have piqued her; how 
strange and sad it must all have been ! Upon the 
whole, I do not know a more provoking love-story in 
the annals of literature, and though, as Sainte-Beuve 
says. Gibbon bore his disappointment with a tranquil- 
lity that makes one smile, it is not with a smile only 
that one dwells upon ^' the delicate subject of his early 
love.'^ 

When he had definitely sighed as a lover and 
obeyed as a son, he settled down to the dulness of 
English country life, the trivial pleasures of which, 
the visits, the talk with commonplace people, affiicted 
him even more than its monotony, though less perhaps 
than his misspent service as a captain of the militia 
w^iich Pitt kept under arms after its supposed useful- 
ness in defying invasion during the Old French War 
was quite past : this he felt was unfit and unworthy 
of him. At this time he was occupied with his Es- 
say on the Study of Literature, which he wrote in 
French, and which in his maturer years humbled him 
by excellences he had sa little improved upon ; and he 
projected a number of histories before he fixed at last 
upon his great work : he thought of writing the his- 
tory of the Crusade of Henry the First, of the Barons^ 
Wars against John, the lives of Henry the Fifth and 
Titus, the Life of Sir Philip Sidney, the History of the 
Liberty of the Swiss, and that of the Eepublic of Flor- 
ence under the Medici. But his studies for an Italian 
tour, and his subsequent visit to Italy, insensibly con- 
firmed his tendency toward the work of his life, the 
first conception of which occurred to him at Kome, as 



EDWARD GIBBON. 19 

he ^^sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol^ while 
the harefooted friars were singing vespers in the Tem- 
ple of Jupiter.'^ 

It was not till after seven years^ preparation, that, 
fall of uncertainty and misgiving, this man of a genius 
unsui-passed and even unapproached in its kind, sat 
down to write the first chapter of a history which he 
had not yet named in his own mind ; and then he toiled 
at the mere teclmique of his work with a patience 
w^hich teaches the old lesson, eternally true, that genius 
absolves from no duty to art, and that it achieves its 
triumphs by endeavors proportioned to its own great- 
ness. "' The style of an author should be the image of 
his mind, but the choice and command of language is 
the fruit of exercise. Many experiments were made 
before I could hit the middle tone between a dull chroni- 
cle and a rhetorical declamation ; three times did I com- 
pose the first chapter, and twice the second and third, 
before I was tolerably satisfied with their effect. In 
the remainder of the way I advanced with more equal 
and easy pace ; but the fifteenth and sixteenth chap- 
ters have been reduced by three successive revisals 
from a large volume to their present size.'' It is thus 
only that the exquisite is produced. There is no in- 
spiration but that which comes after long travail; 
Jacob wrestled with the Angel of the Lord until the 
breaking of the day, before he stood face to face with 
the Infinite; in spite of all the unfruitful toil in the 
world, there is no fruit but from toil. 

Gibbon had now fixed his home in London, where 
he became a man of fashion and of the great world, 
which not many years later he deliberately forsook for 
the little comfortable world of Lausanne, in whose sim- 
ple quiet he finished the work begun and largely ad- 



20 EDAYAED GIBBON. 

vanced in the tumult of tlie English capital. There 
were, he tells us, few persons of any eminence in litera- 
ture or politics to whom he was a strangpr, and he 
stoops to specify, in a grandiose footnote, Dr. John- 
son, Mr. Burke, Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Topham Beauclerc, 
and otliers, as his fellow-members of the Literary Ckih. 
At this period also he entered into political hfe, and 
took his seat for the Borough of Liskeard. 

He was therefore just seated in Parliament when our 
troubles with the mother country began, and he took a 
lively interest in American affairs. But it was nc>t in 
our behalf ; on the contrary, he disliked our cause with 
all the spirit of a gentleman whose sense of propriety 
and of property was hurt by our insubordination, and 
he steadily voted with the government against us, or, as 
he says with characteristic pomp, he ^' supported, with 
many a sincere and silent vote, the rights, though not 
perhaps the interest, of the mother country." His friend 
Lord Sheffield adds in a note that *^ though he was not 
perfectly satisfied with every measure " of the adminis- 
tration for our suppression, ^^ yet he uniformly supported 
all the principal ones," and what these were we learn not 
from the Memoir, but from his letters. The Memoir, 
once clearly defining his attitude, has nothing more to say 
about us ; but the letters mention us often enough, in 
hope or in despair, as the chance of war is against us or 
for us. It is always curious to note these fiuctuations ; 
it is like a glimpse, by instantaneous photograph, of 
the feeling of the past. In this case the feeling is that 
of the great mass of the English nation, and (►f some of 
the best Englishmen; for hard as it is for us to under- 
stand (the time being so distant, and ourselves being 
concerned), our friends in England then must have 
been excusable to most of their fellow-countrymen only 



EDWAED GIBBON. 21 

as sentimental idealists, and to many inexcusaMe as 
disloyal demagogues. For liis part, Mr. Gibbon, in 1774, 
had no misgivings in supporting Lord North's Boston 
Port Bill, removing the customs and courts to Salem, 
^' a. step so detrimental to the former Xovm, that it must 
soon reduce it to our own terms, and yet of so mild an 
appearance'^ that in the Lords it passed with '^some 
lively conversation but no division." These facts are 
intermixed with some indecent gossip of the town in 
which Mr. Gibbon seems to have had the interest of a 
student of civilization ; and his letters do not mention 
America again till the following year, wJien we find 
him tempted by the greatness of the subject to ^^ expose 
himself in a speech on American affairs. He never 
did so, but he was soon one of ^^ three hundred and 
four to one hundred and five " who voted an address 
to the throne "" declaring Massachusetts Bay in a state 
of rebellion. More troops, but I fear not enough, go to 
America, to make an army of ten thousand men at 

Boston I am more and more convinced that 

with firmness all may go well ; yet,'^ he prudently adds, 
^* I sometimes doubt." In the autumn of this year he 
mentions the government negotiations with the Kus- 
sians, failing which, we had the Hessians sent us. 
^' We have great hopes of getting a body of these bar- 
barians," the Eussians : five and twenty thousand of 
them, who are to go out as mercenaries, not alUes. 
^' The worst of it is that the Baltic will soon be frozen 
up, and that it must be late next year before the}^ can 
get to America. In the mean time we are not quite 
easy about Canada," though in the following January 
he can congratulate his friend Lord Sheffield (to whom 
nearly all these letters are written) that Quebec is not 
yet taken. ^^ I hear that Carleton is determined never 



22 EDWARD GIBBON. 

to capitulate witli rebels, — a glorious resolution if it 
were supported with fifty thousand men." Unhappily, 
it needed not half so many to disperse the intrepid 
little army led to starve and freeze at the foot of that 
impregnable rock by Arnold and Montgomery ; and, 
twenty days before Gibbon wrote, one of these gal- 
lant chiefs had died to glory and the other survived to 
infamy in the narrow defile of the Sault au Matelot. 
The writer of the letters does not mention these tidings 
till June, though they could hardly have been so long 
in reaching England ; and then he couples them with the 
rumor that Lee is captured, and in his next letter he is 
pleased to observe that ^* the old report of Washington's 
resignation and quarrel with Congress seems to revive,'^ 
— Lord George Germaine, ^' with whom I had a long 
conversation last night, was in high spirits," at another 
time during that summer, entertaining lively hopes 
*' that the light troops and Indians under Sir William 
Johnson, who are sent from Oswego down the Mohawk 
Eiver to Albany, will oblige the Provincials to give 
up the defence of the Lakes, for fear of being cut off." 
Things, in fact, fell out much as Lord George Germaine 
sanguinely foreboded. On ^' the Lakes" there was a 
naval combat, ^'in which the Provincials were repulsed 
with considerable loss. They burnt and abandoned 
Crown Point. Carleton is besieging Ticonderoga," 
but Mi. Gibbon never has the satisfaction of announ- 
cing the fall of this post to his noble friend \ and though 
he thinks later that ^^ things go on very prosperously 
in America," Howe being ^' in the Jerseys," on his 
way to the Delaware, and Washington, *' who wishes 
to cover Philadelphia," having ^' not more than six or 
seven thousand men with him," while, best of all, a 
province (^'it ^s indeed only poor little Georgia") has 



EDWARD GIBBON. 23 

'^ made its submission, and desired to be reinstated in 
the peace of the king/^ yet presently we read that 
^^ America affords nothing very satisfactory/' and this 
being written at Ahnack's, ''Charles Fox is now at 
my elbow, declaiming on the impossibility of keeping 
America.'' The Americans are by this time (the spring 
of 1777) not only behaving very unsatisfactorily at 
home, but on the night of the 5th of May '' a small 
privateer fitted out at Dunkirk attacked, took, and has 
carried into Dunkirk road the Harwich packet. The 
king's messenger had just time to throw his despatches 
overboard," and Mr. Gibbon, hearing of this affair at 
Dover on his way to Paris, is in great doubt whether 
he had better go on. But he goes on, and at Paris 
he actually dined with Franklin, the terrible, '' by 
accident ^''^ as he tells his friend in expressive italics, 
but dined with him nevertheless, and, let us hope, 
liked him. At that distance from London he sees 
clearly the mismanagement of the American business ; 
'' a wretched piece of work. The greatest force which 
any European power ever ventured to transport into 
that continent is not strong enough even to attack the 
enemy .... and in the mean time you are obliged to 
call out the militia to defend your own coasts against 
their privateers." Being returned to England in De- 
cember, he has to communicate, from his place in the 
House of Commons, ''dreadful news indeed! .... 
An English army of nearly ten thousand men laid 
down their arms, and surrendered prisoners of war 
on condition of being sent to England, and of never 

serving against America Burgoyne is said to 

have received three wounds. General Eraser, with 
two thousand men, killed. Colonel Ackland likewise 
killed. A general cry for peace." 



24 EDWARD GIBBON. 

It was at last beginning to be time, thongh peace 
was far off yet, and Mr. Gibbon's party had much to 
learn. A year before this he had written : ^^ We talk 
chiefly of the Marquis de la Fayette, who was here a 
few weeks ago. He is about twenty, with a hundred 
and thirty thousand livres a year ; the nephew of 
Noailles, who is ambassador here. He has bought 
the Duke of Kingston's yacht, and is gone to join the 
Americans," and now *^it is positively asserted both 
in private and in Parliament, and not contradicted by 
ministers, that on the 5th of this month," — February, 
1778^ — ^* a treaty of commerce (which naturally leads 
to a war) was signed at Paris with the independent 
States of America." The administration is by no 
means premature, then, in proposing an act of Parlia- 
ment *^ to declare that we never had any intention of 
taxing America, — another act to empower the crown 
to name commissions" to stop the lighting, and to 
grant everything but independence," — by this time 
the only thing the rebels would accept. Mr. Gibbon 
amuses himself with this complete about-face of his 
leader. Lord North, and asks his friend next Friday to 
take notice of the injunction of the liturgy ; ^' And all 
the people shall say after the minister , Turn us again, 
Lord, and so shall we be turned," which may have 
been the current joke of the hour. In the autumn the 
temper of go\'crnment is changed again, and *^ there 
are people, large ones, too, who talk of conquering 
America next summer, with the help of twenty thou- 
sand Eussians." At this point Mr. Gibbon leaves 
pretty much all mention of our affairs, and we only 
find one allusion to America afterwards in his let- 
ters, — a passage in which he begs his step-mother to 
learn for him the particulars concerning ^^ an American 



EDWARD GIBBON. 25 

mother who in a short time had lost three sons ; one 
killed by the savages^ one run mad from that accident, 
and the third taken at sea^ now in England, a prisoner 
at Fijrton HospitaL For him something might per- 
haps he done, .... but you will prudently suppress 
my request, lest I should raise hopes which it may 
not be in my power to gratify. '' In announcing the 
rumored submission of ^'poor little Georgia" Mr. 
Gibbon had been rather merry over the fright of the 
Georgians at the Indians who had '^ begun to amuse 
themselves w^ith the exercise of scalping on their back 
settlements," but matters of that kind are always 
different when brought to one's personal notice, and 
cannot be so lightly treated as at a distance of four 
thousand miles. In fine, Mr. Gibbon was our enemy 
upon theory and principle, as a landed gentleman of Tory 
family should be, and there can be no doubt of his 
perfect sincerity and uprightness in his course. For 
my own part, my heart rather warms to his stout, 
WTong-headed patriotism, as a fine thing in its way, 
and immensely characteristic, which one ought not to 
have otherwise, if one could. 

It is a pity not to know how he felt towards us when 
all was over, and wdiether he ever forgave us our suc- 
cess. But after his retirement to Lausanne, the politi- 
cal affairs which chiefly find place in his letters are 
those of France, which were beginning to make them- 
selves the wonder and concern of the whole polite 
world. He first felt the discomfort of having the emi- 
grant noblesse crowding into his quiet retreat, and he 
murmurs a little at this, though Lausanne is always 
*^ infested in summer" by the travelling English, and 
it '^ escapes the superlatively great" exiles, the Count 
d^Artois, the Polignacs, etc., who slip by to Turin. 



26 EDWARD GIBBON. 

Bat France is a liorrid scene^ with the Assembly voting 
abstract propositions, Paris an independent Repubhc, 
all credit gone, according to '^ poor Necker," and 
nobody paying taxes ; and it becomes still more ab- 
horrent to the friends of order, as the dissolution of the 
ancient monarchy advances, ^Hhe king brought a cap- 
tive to Paris ; the nobles in exile, the clergy plundered 
in a way that strikes at the root of all property." 
Lord Sheffield need not send Mr. Gibbon to Chambery 
to see a prince and an archbishop in exile ; there are 
now exiles enough and of the noblest at Lausanne, 
whom in their cheerful adversity and gay destitution 
one must admire. He is always looking anxiously at 
England, and he distrusts even the movement, then be- 
ginning, against the great crime of civiUzation. He 
would be glad, if it proceeded from an impulse of 
humanity, ^' but in this rage against slavery, in the 
numerous petitions against the slave-trade, w^as there 
no leaven of new democratical principles, no wild ideas 
of the rights and natural equality of man ? '^ For that 
would never do, and would as surely go to the roots of 
all property in England as in France. He sees clearly 
the follies of that wonderful time, and he sees as yet no 
rising master of the situation, no Richelieu, no Crom- 
well, '^ either to restore the monarchy or to lead the 
commonwealth " ; it is not in his philosophy, wise as 
he is in all the past, to imagine a people so inspired 
with a sense of freedom and of the value of their new- 
w^on rights, as to be able to maintain them against the 
whole of Europe, and to carry the revolution wher- 
ever their wild armies go. 

This conception comes later, after the fact, and not 
till the historian, with prodigious amaze, sees these 
Gallic dogs, these Gallic wolves, these wretched 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 27 

French republican soldiers, whose ^^ officers, scarcely a 
gentleman among them," — fancy it ! — ^' without ser- 
vants or horses or baggage, lie higgledy-piggledy on 
the ground with the common men, yet maintain a kind 
of rough discipline over them," — not, I say, till these 
armies ^^ force the Prussians to evacuate their country, 
conquer Savoy, pillage Germany, threaten Spain, in- 
vade the Low Countries, make Rome and Italy trem- 
ble, scour the Mediterranean, and talk of sending a 
squadron into the South Sea.'' It is indeed a tremen- 
dous and a hateful spectacle, and well may a middle- 
aged, literary Tory gentleman of landed property fore- 
bode that if England '* should now be seduced to eat 
the apple of false freedom," himself and his best friends 
may soon be '' reduced to the deplorable state of the 
French emigrants." Wolves and dogs ? The names 
are too good for the wretches who have not only 
beheaded their king, but have involved their upper 
classes in more distress than any former revolutionists, 
and have rendered landed property insecure every- 
where ; henceforth they are "cannibals " and " devils," 
their ' ^ democratical principles lead by a path of 
flowers into the abyss of hell," and "the blackest 
demon in hell is the demon of democracy." It is droll 
to observe how, in these moments of deep emotion, a 
pagan gentleman is forced back upon a forsaken su- 
perstition for the proper imagery in which to clothe 
his indignation; but where gentility and landed prop- 
erty are concerned, Mr. Gibbon is as good a Chris- 
tian as any. Indeed, he is so arch-conservative that 
he humorously accounts for his historical treatment of 
Christianity on the ground of a sort of high Tory 
affection "for the old Establishment of Paganism," 
and no reader of his letters can help observing how 



28 EDAVARD GIBBOX. 

intimately the best feelings of his nature are bound up 
with the sacred tenure of real-estate and the hallowed 
security of the funds. Yet, after all, when he thinks 
of visiting England, he is greatly minded to go home 
through France. *'I am satisfied that there is little 
or no real danger in the journey; and I must arm 
myself with patience to support the vexatious insolence 
of democratical tyranny. I have even a sort of curi- 
osity to spend a few days at Paris^ to assist at the 
debates of the Pandemonium, to seek an introduction to 
the principal devils, and to contemplate a new form 
of public and private life, which never existed before^ 
and which I devoutly hope will not long continue to 
exist," — a burst of piety scarcely to be matched else- 
where in the author's writings. 

When, however, he did return to England, in 1793, it 
was not by way of France, and his errand was not one 
of curiosity or pleasure. He came home to comfort his 
friend Lord Sheffield, then broken by the recent death of 
his wife, and he travelled by a circuitous route through 
Belgium, as his friend tells us, '^ along the frontiers of 
an enemy worse than savage, within the sound of their 
cannon, and through roads ruined by the enormous ma- 
chinery of war." Gibbon had now grown portentously 
stout, but *' neither his great corpulency, nor his ex- 
traordinary bodily infirmities, nor any other considera- 
tion could prevent him a moment from resolving on an 
undertaking that might have deterred the most active 
young man." This was after ten years of the tranquil 
life of Lausanne, which he had voluntarily chosen 
eight years after his settlement in London, to the vast 
surprise of all his London friends. They believed that 
he never would be able to endure it, and they pre- 
dicted that he would soon be glad to come back. He 



EDWARD GIBBON. 29 

shared their misgiYings in some degree, and he con- 
siders in letters to his different friends the respective 
advantages of London and Lausanne very seriously. 
He knew that the larger the place, the more one is let 
alone in it : he looked forward not only with tender- 
ness hut with some alarm to meeting the friends of his 
youth. But he was tired of p:»litical life, and he 
despaired of political preferment after Burke's Reform 
Bill had abolished his place on the Board of Trade ; 
his straitened income obliged him to save, and London 
was expensive : at Lausanne lived his life-long friend 
George Deyverdun, whose house and heart he might 
share; in his celibate Loneliness he felt the need of 
intimate daily companiimship, and perhaps the place 
secretly called him by yet fonder associations. Its 
society, if provincial, was refined, as every society is 
in which the women are sup»erior to the men : it was 
simple, and comparatively un exacting. His friend's 
terrace commanded a magnificent prospect, and the 
climate was good for his gout. His arrangement was 
not complex : M. Deyverdun lodged Mr. Gibbon, and 
Mr. Gibbon boarded M. Deyverdun. In a letter giv- 
ing to the aunt who watched over his childhood (and 
whom after so many years of reciprocal affection he 
addresses as Dear Madam) an account of his way of 
life at Lausanne, he says of himself and his friend : — 

" Perhaps two persons so perfectly fitted to five together 
were never formed by nature and education, ^'e have both 
read and seen a great variety of objects ; the lights and shades 
of our different characters are happily blended ; and a friend- 
ship of thirty years has taught us to enjoy our mutual advan- 
tages, and to support our unavoidable imperfections. In love 
and marriage some harsh sounds will sometimes interrupt the 
Lirmony^ and in the course of time, like our neighbors, we 



30 EDWARD GIBBON. 

must expect some disagreeable moments ; but confidence and 
freedom are the two pillars of our union, and I am mucb mis- 
taken if the building be not solid and comfortable. In this 
season I rise (not at four in the morning) but a little before 
eight ; at nine, I am called from my study to breakfast, which 
1 always perform alone in the English style ; and, with the 
aid of Caplin,* I perceive no difference between Lausanne and 
Bentinck Street. Our mornings are usually passed in separate 
studies ; we never approach each other's door without a previ- 
ous message, or thrice knocking ; and my apartment is already 
sacred and formidable to strangers. I dress at half past one, 
and at two (an early hour, to which I am not perfectly recon- 
ciled) we sit down to dinner. After dinner and the departure 
of our company, one, two, or three friends, we read together 
some amusing book, or play at chess, or retire to our rooms, or 
make visits, or go to the coffee-house. Between six and seven 
the assemblies begin, and I am oppressed only with their num- 
ber and variety. "Whist, at shillings or half-crowns, is the 
game I generally play, and I play three rubbers with pleasure. 
Between nine and ten we withdraw to our bread and cheese, 
and friendly converse, which sends us to bed at eleven ; but 
these sober hours are too often interrupted by private or numer- 
ous suppers, which I have not the courage to resist, though 
I practise a laudable abstinence at the best-furnished tables. 
Such is the skeleton of my life ; it is impossible to communi- 
cate a perfect idea of the vital and substantial parts, the char- 
acters of the men and women with whom I have very easily 
connected myself in looser and closer bonds, according to their 
inclination and my own. If I do not deceive myself, and if 
Deyverdun does not flatter me, I am already a general favorite ; 
and as our likings and dislikings are commonly mutual, I am 
equally satisfied with the freedom and elegance of manners, and 
(after proper allowances and exceptions) with the woi^thy and 
amiable qualities, of many individuals." 

He writes fondly of Deyverdun to Lady Sheffield, 
and adds ; — 

* His English valet de chambre. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 31 

" The inferior enjoyments of leisure and society are likewise 
in my power ; and in the short excursions which I have hith- 
erto made, I have commenced or renewed my acquaintance with 
a certain number of persons, more especially women (who, at 
least in France and this country, are undoubtedly superior to 
our prouder sex), of rational minds and elegant manners. I 
breakfast alone, and have declared that I receive no visits in a 
morning, which you will easily suppose is devoted to study.'* 

Again and again he boasts of his perfect content 
with Lausanne, in terms that give pleasing glimpses 
of the life and character of the place, as well as of 
himself: — 

"Of my situation here I have little new to say, except a very 
comfortable and singular truth, that my passion for my wife or 
mistress (Fanny Lausanne) is not palled by satiety and posses- 
sion of two years. I have seen her in all seasons and in all 
humors ; and though she is not without faults, they are infi- 
nitely overbalanced by her good qualities. Her face is not 
handsome, but her person and everything about her has admi- 
rable grace and beauty : she is of a very cheerful, sociable tem- 
per ; without much learning, she is endowed with taste and 
good sense ; and though not rich, the simplicity of her educa- 
tion makes her a very good economist ; she is forbid by her 
parents to wear any expensive finery ; and though her limbs 
are not much calculated for walking, she has not yet asked me 
to keep her a coach. Last spring (not to wear the metaphor 
to rags) I saw Lausanne in a new light during my long fit of 
the gout, and must boldly declare, that either in health or sick- 
ness I find it far more comfortable than your huge metropolis. 
In London my confinement was sad and solitary ; the many 
forgot my existence when they saw me no longer at Brookes's ; 
and the few, who sometimes cast a thought or an eye on their 
friend, were detained by business or pleasure, the distance of 
the way, or the hours of the House of Commons ; and I was 
proud and happy if I could prevail on Elmsley to enliven the 



32 EDWARD GIBBON. 

dulness of the evening. Here the objects are nearer and 
much more distinct, and I myself am an object of much larger 
magnitude. People are not kinder, but they are more idle; 
and it must be confessed that, of all nations on the globe, the 
English are the least attentive to the old and infirm ; I do not 
mean in acts of charity, but in the offices of civil life. During 
three months I have had round my chair a succession of agree- 
able men and women, who came with a smile, and vanished at 
a nod ; and as soon as it was agreeable, I had a constant party 
at cards, which was sometimes dismissed to their respective 
homes, and sometimes detained by Deyverdun to supper, with- 
out the least trouble or inconvenience to myself." 

This also is from a letter to Lady Sheffield. To Lord 
Sheffield he writes some facts and figures which have 
a curious interest as showing the cost of a gentleman's 
bachelor establishment in England and Switzerland a 
hundred years ago : — 

*' What is then, you will ash, my p-esent establishment .^ 
This is not by any means a cheap country ; and, except in the 
article of wine, I could give a dinner, or make a coat, perhaps 
for the same price in London as at Lausanne. My chief ad- 
vantage arises from the things which I do not want ; and in 
some respects my style of hving is enlarged by the increase of 
my relative importance ; an obscure bachelor in England, the 
master of a considerable house at Lausanne. Here I am 
expected to return entertainments, to receive ladies, etc., and 
to perform many duties of society which, though agreeable 
enough in themselves, contribute to inflame the housekeeper's 
bills. But in a quiet, prudent, regular course of life, I think 
I can support myself with comfort and honor for six or seven 
hundred pounds a year, instead of a thousand or eleven hun- 
dred in England." 

After Deyverdun's death, which was a terrible be- 
reavement to Gibbon, be bought a life interest in his 



EDWARD GIBBON. 66 

estate on the favorable terms fixed by his friend's will, 
and continued to live in the same house where they 
had dwelt together nearly six years in such perfect 
harmony. Two years before this he had ended his 
mighty work^ an event celebrated in the famous pas- 
sage which one cannot read without a strong thrill of 
sympathy with its lofty emotion : — 

*' I have presumed to mark the moment of conception : I 
shall now commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. It 
was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, 
between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last 
lines of the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After 
laying down my pen I took several turns in a berceau, or covered 
walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, 
the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky 
was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the 
waters, and all nature was silent. I will not dissemble the first 
emotions of joy on recovery of my freedom, and perhaps the 
establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled, 
and a sober melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea 
that I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable 
companion, and that whatsoever might be the future date of 
my History, the life of the historian must be short and pre- 
carious." 

One could desire a further account of Gibbon's habits 
of labor on his history than the very succinct sketch 
given in his Memoir, but his letters are not much more 
satisfactory on this point. Method and assiduity were 
of course the open secrets of his success in an under- 
taking, the mere material grandeur of which w^as 
appalling; but there is something to show that the 
strain was no day so great as it was continual from 
day to day. He enjoyed life very well in Lausanne, 
and he seems not to have curtailed his social pleasures 
till the year before the completion of his task. In 



34 EDWARD GIBBON. 

January of the year that saw its close, he wrote to 
Lord Sheffield : — 

*' A long while ago, when I contemplated the distant pros- 
pect of my work, I gave you and myself some hopes of landing 
in England last autumn ; but alas ! when autumn grew near, 
hills began to rise on hills, Alps on Alps, and 1 found my 
journey far more tedious and toilsome than I had imagined. 
When I look back on the length of the undertaking, and the 
variety of materials, I cannot accuse or suffer myself to be 
accused of idleness ; yet it appeared that unless I doubled my 
diligence, another year, and perhaps more, would elapse before 
I could embark with my complete manuscript. Under these 
circumstances I took, and am still executing, a bold and meri- 
torious resolution. The mornings in winter, and in a country 
of early dinners, are very concise ; to them, my usual period 
of study, I now frequently add the evenings, renounce cards 
and society, refuse the most agreeable evenings or perhaps 
make my appearance at a late supper. By this extraordinary 
industry, which I never practised before, and to which I hope 
never to be again reduced, I see the last part of my History 
growing apace under my hands ; all my materials are collected 
and arranged ; I can exactly compute, by the square foot, or 
the square page, all that remains to be done ; and after con- 
cluding texts and notes, after a general review of my time and 
my ground, I now can decisively ascertain the final period of 
the Decline and Fall, and can boldly promise that I will dine 
with you at Sheffield Place in the month of August, or perhaps 
of July, in the present year ; within less than a twelvemonth 
of the term which I had loosely and originally fixed. And 
perhaps it would not be easy to find a work of that size and 
importance in which the workman has so tolerably kept his 
word with himself and the public." 

So good a man of business was this great man of 
genius ! He kept his word with the public, but his 
infirmities conspired with other causes to make him 
break it to his fiiend. He did not dine with Lord 



EDWARD GIBBON". 35 

Sheffield as he proposed; he did not go to England 
till six years later, when he felt himself imperatively 
called by his friend's sorrows ; and then he came also 
to lay down his own life in his native land. He had 
long suffered from a dropsical affection resulting from 
a neglected rupture; it had now become a terrible 
burden as w^ell as a grotesque deformity, and within 
a short time after his arrival in England he underwent 
three operations. They gave relief, but they tried his 
strength too far, for he succumbed to the third. He 
had already written his last note to his friend, a letter 
touchingly prophetic in the weariness of a dying man. 

"Edward Gibbon, Esq,., to Lord Shettield. 

*'St. James Street, Four o'clock, Tuesday. 
" This date says everything. I was almost killed between 
Sheffield Place and East Grinstead, by hard, frozen, long, and 
cross ruts, that would disgrace the approach to an Indian wig- 
wam. The rest was something less painful ; and I reached 
this place half dead, but not seriously feverish or iU. I found 
a dinner invitation from Lord Lucan ; but what are dinners to 
me ? I wish they did not know of my departure. I catch the 
flying post. What an effort ! Adieu, till Thursday or Friday." 

It was in London that he made his end. The opera- 
tion seemed to have aft\>rded him distinct relief; he 
talked of a radical cure, of getting back to his beloved 
Lausanne. He saw his friends on the afternoon before 
the day of his death (the 16th of January), among 
them several ladies, with whom he talked, as he liked 
to do, of the probable duration of his life, which he 
fixed at from ten to twenty years. No words can be 
better than those in which Lord Sheffield describes the 
last moments of the great friend to whose bedside he 
came too late to see him alive : — 



36 EDWARD GIBBON. 

" On that morning, about seven, tlie sei-vant asked whether 
he should send for Mr. Farquhar. He answered, no ; that he 
was as well as he had been the day before. At about half past 
eight he got out of bed, and said he was plus adroit than 
he had been for three months past, and got into bed again^ 
without assistance, better than usual. About nine, he said that 
he would rise. The servant, however, persuaded him to re- 
main in bed till Mr. Farquhar, who was expected at eleven, 
should come. Till about that hour he spoke with great facility. 
Mr. Farquhar came at the time appointed, aud he was then 
visibly dying. When the valet de chambre returned, after 
attending Mr. Farquhar out of the room, Mr. Gibbon said, 
*' Pourquoi est-ce que vous me quittez ?" This was about 
half past eleven. At twelve he drank some brandy and water 
from a teapot, and desired his favorite servant to stay with 
him. These were the last words he pronounced articulately. 
To the last he preserved his senses ; and when he could no 
longer speak, his servant having asked a question, he made a 
sign to show that he understood him. He was quite tranquil, 
aud did not stir ; his eyes half shut. About a quarter before 
one he ceased to breathe." 

Vastly the greater number of Gibbon^s letters in the 
collection with which Lord Sheffield continues his life 
are addressed to this faithful friend^ with whom he be- 
came intimate in their young manhood, and with whom 
he maintained the closest relations as long as he lived. 
Lord Sheffield died, full of titles and honors, and the 
author of many political and politico -economical pam- 
phlets, in 1821, having been forty years in active public 
life. But his illustrious correspondent, whose miscel- 
laneous works he edited, and in whose fame his memory 
survives, was a man of the great w^orld of his day, and 
he wrote letters to many other famous and noble peo- 
ple : letters which have, with all their occasional poly- 
syllabic ponderosity, a lively air of unconsciousness and 



EDWAED GIBBON. 37 

of not being Tvritten for the public eve, as most letters 
of that epistolary age seem to have been. It would be 
unfair to accuse them of a witty or humorous le\nty, 
but they are certainly sprightly, after their kind^ and 
are not so hard reading as letters often are. Some 
of the sprightliest are to Lady Sheffield and to Miss 
Maria Holroyd, a young lady who amuses herself with 
his abhorrence of the French Democrats so far as to 
subscribe herself, ^^Citoyen Gibbon, je suis ton egal.'^ 
Two of the best letters are to the lovely Lady Eliza- 
beth Foster, afterwards Duchess of Devonshire, whom 
he met at Lausanne. In Switzerland, then as now, 
everybody sooner or later appeared, and one of the 
letters boasting Gibbon's content with Lausanne opens 
with the passage: ''A few weeks ago, as I was walk- 
ing on our terrace with M. Tissot, the celebrated phy- 
sician, M. Mercier, author of the ^'Tabhan de Paris, '^ 
the Abbe Eaynal, Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoi- 
selle Xecker, the Abbe de Bourbon, a natural son of 
Louis the Fifteenth, the Hereditary Prince of Brunswick, 
Prince Henry of Prussia, and a dozen counts, barons, 
and extraordinary persons, among whom was a natural 
son of the Empress of Russia — Are you satisfied with 
this listf" Truly it is enough to convince the most 
incredulous Londoner that Gibbon cannot suffer in 
Lausanne from the ennui that coihes of too little soci- 
ety ; and his letters all bear witness to the fulness and 
richness of his social life after his voluntary exile. 

Very few of the letters belong to the period of his 
youth, but there is one, to his Aunt Porten, written 
during his sojoura with the Pavilliards, which is very 
interesting, as showing to how great an extent he had 
lost in his first Swiss residence the idiomatic use of Eng- 
lish. It is also interesting for the hope expressed by 



38 EDWARD GIBBON. 

the boy of seventeen that Admiral Byng^ then on trial 
for the loss of Minorca, and afterwards hanged, as Vol- 
taire said, 2^0^^^^ encourage}' les autres, might not be ac- 
quitted. "Though I do not love rash judgments, I 
cannot help thinking him guilty," writes young Gibbon, 
who in the same letter presses his aunt to read Sir 
Charles Grandison, a novel then very fashionable, 
" which is much superior to Clarissa.'^ A letter dated 
four years later addresses his father as " Dear Sir," and 
begs him to give him for a tour in Italy the money he 
had meant to spend on getting hhn a seat in Parlia- 
ment ] he declares himself unfitted for public life by 
tastes, habits, and ambition. A few of the letters re- 
late to the controversy excited by the sceptical char- 
acter of his history ; but all this matter is treated with 
sufficient fulness in his Memoir, and with a scornful 
bitterness which spares but one or two of his assail- 
ants. "At a distance of twelve years I calmly affirm 
my judgment of Davies, Chelsum, etc.,*' — clergymen 
w^ho had combated his doubts with the weapons of the 
church militant. "A victory over such antagonists 
was a sufficient humiliation. They, however, were 
rewarded in this w^orld. Poor Chelsum was indeed 
neglected, and I dare not boast of making Dr. Watson 
a bishop ; he is a prelate of a large mind and a lib- 
eral spirit : but I enjoyed the pleasure of giving a royal 
pension to Mr. Davies, and of collating Dr. Apthorpe 
to an archiepiscopal living." With keen antitheses, 
like the scythes projecting from either side of the war- 
cars of the Cimbrians, the historian drives down upon 
the ranks of his opponents, and leaves them behind 
him in long swaths. Let us not look longer upon the 
carnage. He did not spare those who at any period 
ot life wronged or ofiended him, and many a passage 



EDWARD GIBBON". 39 

of his Memoirs is rounded or pointed with the frag- 
ments of such criminals. 

In the course of his autobiography and letters, he 
touches a multitude of interesting people and facts, and 
in the extracts given from his journals the reader will 
find some curious bits of observation. At Genoa he 
was introduced to the Doge, and gives us a realistic 
glimpse of a dignity which must have been very hard 
upon the ^' old man, very fat," who bore it : ^' He re- 
ceives five thousand livres and expends at least twenty- 
five thousand for the pleasure of residing in a wretched 
house, out of which he cannot move without the per- 
mission of the Senate." Here at Genoa he heard much 
interesting talk about the Corsican insurrection headed 
by Paoli ] at Florence he saw on St. John's Day the 
riderless horse-races, as they are given now only in 
Eome ; he saw the busts of the Roman emperors in the 
gallery, and his comments on these are too suggestive 
and important to be curtailed. 

Lord Sheffield says of Gibbon's letters that they bear 
^^ in general a strong resemblance to the style and turn 
of his conversation, the characteristics of which were 
vivacity, elegance, and precision, with knowledge as- 
tonishingly extensive and correct," a judgment with 
which, so far as the knowledge, elegance, and precision 
go, one cannot very well dispute. The vivacity is apt 
to die out of letters ] so apt that I for one cannot re- 
gret the lapse of the epistolary age, and Mr. Gibbon's 
sprightliness has something of horse, not to say river- 
horse, play in it now and then. His letters reveal a 
love of gossip which one rather likes, and a tooth for 
scandal now and then, which is but human. Occa- 
sionally the letters are coarse, but not often ; a gentle- 
man would not now write some things he does to the 



40 EDAVAED GIBBON. 

beautiful Lady Elizabeth Foster } but the gentleman 
changes very much from century to century ; and 
so does the lady, fortunately. What Lord Sheffield 
has furtlier to say of his great fiiend's characteristics 
is very interesting and quite indisputable : — 

*' He never ceased to be instructive and entertaining ; and in 
general there was a vein of pleasantry in his conversation, 
which prevented its becoming languid, even during a residence 
of many months with a family in the country. It has been 
supposed that he always arranged what he intended to say be- 
fore he spoke ; his quickness in conversation contradicts this 
notion : but it is very true, that before he sat down to write a 
note or letter, he completely arranged in his mind what he 
meant to express. He pursued the same method in respect to 
other composition ; and he occasionally would Avalk several 
times about his apartment before he had rounded a periyd to his 
taste. He has pleasantly remarked to me, that it sometimes 
cost him many a turn before he could throw a sentiment into a 
form that gratified his own criticism. His systematic habit of 
arrangement in point of style, assisted, in his instance, by an 
excellent memory and correct judgment, is much to be recom- 
mended to those who aspire to perfection in w^riting." 

But his style had better forever be left his CAxn. It 
is magnificent ; the most magnificent web into which 
our English has ever been wTOught ; but its gorgeous 
textures are for the drapery of a theme uniquely vast 
and grand ; it must fall cumbrous and ridiculous about 
any other, though for that it is imperially fitting ; stiff, 
but stiff with threads of gold and broidery of precious 
stones. 

It is well, in any study of this sort, to let the man 
who is the subject of inquiries necessarily vague and 
unsatisfactory, have the last word for himself; and 
there are words of Gibbon^s, written on his twenty- 



EDWARD GIBBON. 41 

sixth birthday, which probably sum up his qualities 
better than the language of any other critic, allowing, 
of course, for the changes which years, self-study, and 
self- discipline gradually made in him : — 

" This was my birthday, on which I entered into the twenty- 
sixth year of my age. This gave me occasion to look a little 
into myself, and consider impartially my good and bad qualities. 
It appeared to me, upon this inquiry, that my character was 
virtuous, incapable of a base action, and formed for generous 
ones ; but that it was proud, violent, and disagreeable in so- 
ciety. These qualities I must endeavor to cultivate, extirpate, 
or restrain, according to their different tendency. AVit I have 
none. My imagination is rather strong thau pleasing ; my 
memory both capacious and retentive. The shining qualities 
of my understanding are extensiveness and penetration ; but I 
want both quickness and exactness." 




•MEMOIRS 



OP 



EDWARD GIBBON 




j|X the ■fifty-second year of my age, after the 
completion of an arduous and successful work, 
I now propose to employ some moments of 
my leisure in reviewing the simple transac- 
tions of a private and literary life. Truth, naked, un- 
blushing truth, the first virtue of more serious history, 
must be the sole recommendation of this personal nar- 
rative. The style shall be simple and familiar ; but 
style is the image of character ) and the habits of cor- 
rect writing may produce, without labor or design, the 
appearance of art and study. My own amusement 
is my motive, and will be my reward; and if these 
sheets are communicated to some discreet and indulgent 
friends, they will be secreted from the public eye till 
the author shall be removed beyond the reach of criti- 
cism or ridicule. 

A lively desire of knowing and of recording our 
ancestors so generally prevails, that it must depend on 
the influence of some common principle in the minds 
of men. We seem to have lived in the persons of our 



44 MEMOIRS OF 

forefathers; it is the lahor and reward of vanity to 
extend the term of this ideal longevity. Our imagina- 
tion is always active to enlarge the narrow circle in 
which nature has confined us. Fifty or an hundred 
years may he allotted to an individual ; hut we step 
forward heyond death with such hopes as religion and 
philosophy will suggest ] and we fill up the silent 
vacancy that precedes our hirth, hy associating our- 
selves to the authors of our existence. Our calmer 
judgment will rather tend to moderate than to suppress 
the pride of an ancient and worthy race. The satirist 
may laugh, the philosopher may preach ; hut Reason 
herself will respect the prejudices and hahits which 
have heen consecrated by the experience of mankind. 
Few there are who can sincerely despise in others an 
advantage of which they are secretly ambitious to 
partake. The knowledge of our own family from a 
remote period will be always esteemed as an abstract 
pre-eminence, since it can never be promiscuously 
enjoyed ; but the longest series of peasants and 
mechanics would not afford ^much gratification to the 
pride of their descendant. We wish to discover our 
ancestors, but we wish to discover them possessed of 
ample fortunes, adorned with honorable titles, and 
holding an eminent rank in the class of hereditary 
nobles, which has been maintained for the wisest and 
most beneficial purposes in almost every climate of 
the globe, and in almost every modification of political 
society. 

Wherever the distinction of birth is allowed to form 
a superior order in the state, education and example 
should always, and will often, produce among them a 
dignity of sentiment and propriety of conduct, which 
is guarded ^om dishonor by their own and the public 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 45 

esteem. If we read of some illustrious line so ancient 
that it has no beginning, so worthy that it ought to 
have no end, we sympathize in its various fortunes; 
nor can we blame the generous enthusiasm, or even 
the harmless vanity, of those who are allied to the 
honors of its name. For my own part, could I draw 
my pedigree from a general, a statesman, or a cele- 
brated author, I should study their lives with the 
diligence of filial love. In the investigation of past 
events our curiosity is stimulated by the immediate or 
indirect reference to ourselves : but in the estimate of 
honor we should learn to value the gifts of nature 
above those of fortune ; to esteem in our ancestors the 
qualities that best promote the interests of society; 
and to pronounce the descendant of a king less truly 
noble than the oftspring of a man of genius, whose 
writings will instruct or delight the latest posterity. 
The family of Confucius is. in my opinion, the most 
illustrious in the world. After a painful ascent of 
eight or ten centuries, our barons and princes of 
Europe are lost in the darkness of the Middle Ages ; 
but in the vast equality of the empire of China, the 
posterity of Confucius have maintained above two 
thousand two hundred years their peaceful honors 
and perpetual succession. The chief of the family is 
still revered, by the sovereign and the people, as the 
lively image of the wisest of mankind. The nobility 
of the Spencers has been illustrated and enriched by 
the trophies of Marlborough; but I exhort them to 
consider the Fairy Queen * as the most precious jewel 

* "So le-s praise-wortliv are the ladies three, 
The honour of that noble faniilie 
Of which I meanest boa?t myself to he." 

Spenser, Colin Clout, etc., V. 538. 



46 MEMOIES OF 

of their coronet. Our immortal Fielding was of the 
younger branch of the Earls of Denbigh, who draw 
their origin from the Counts of Habsburg, the lineal 
descendants of Eltrico, in the seventh century Duke 
of Alsace. Far different have been the fortunes of the 
Enghsh and German divisions of the family of Habs- 
burg : the foraier, the knights and sheriffs of Leicester- 
shire, have slowly risen to the dignity of a peerage ; 
the latter, the emperors of Germany and kings of 
Spain, haA^e threatened the liberty of the Old and in- 
vaded the treasures of the New World. The successors 
of Charles the Fifth may disdain their brethren of Eng- 
land; but the romance of Tom Jones, that exquisite 
picture of human manners, will outlive the palace 
of the Escurial and the imperial eagle of the house of 
Austria. 

That these sentiments are just, or at least natural, I 
am the more inclined to believe, as I am not myself 
interested in the cause ; for I can derive from my an- 
cestors neither glory nor shame. Yet a sincere and 
simple narrative of my own life may amuse some of 
my leisure hours ; but it, will subject me, and perhaps 
with justice, to the imputation of vanity. I may 
judge, however, from the experience both of past and 
of the present times, that the public are always curious 
to know the men who have left behind them any 
image of their minds: the most scanty accounts of 
such men are compiled with diligence and perused 
with eagerness; and the student of every class may 
derive a lesson, or an example, from the lives most 
similar to his own. My name may hereafter be placed 
among the thousand articles of a Biographia Britan- 
nica ; and I must be conscious that no one is so well 
qualified as myself to describe the series of my thoughts 



EDWARD GIBBON. 47 

and actions. The authority of my masters, of the 
grave Thuanus and the philosophic Hume, might he 
sufficient to justify my design; but it would not be 
difficult to produce a long list of ancients and modems, 
who in various forms have exhibited their own por- 
traits. Such portraits are often the most interesting, 
and sometimes the only interesting parts of their 
writings ; and if they be sincere, we seldom complain 
of the minuteness or prolixity of these personal me- 
morials. The lives of the younger Pliny, of Petrarch, 
and of Erasmus, are expressed in the epistles which 
they themselves have given to the wcnid. The essays 
of Montaigne and Sir William Temple bring us home 
to the houses and bosoms of the authors : we smile 
without contempt at the headstrong passions of Ben- 
renuto Cellini and the gay fi»llies of Colley Gibber. 
The confessiijns of St. Augustin and R<.»usseau disclose 
the secrets of the human heart : his commentaries of 
the learned Huet have survived his evangelical demon- 
stration ; and the memoirs of Goldoni are more truly 
dramatic than his Italian comedies. The heretic and 
the churchman are strongly marked in the characters 
and fortunes of Whiston and Bishop Newton ; and 
even the dulness of Michael de Marolles and Anthony 
Wood acquires some value from the f.uthful repre- 
sentation of men and manners. That I am equal 
or superior to some of these, the effects of modesty or 
affectation cannot force me to dissemble. 



My fiimily is originally derived from the cotmty of 
Kent. The southern district, which borders on Sussex 
and the sea, Wiis formerly overspread with the great 
forest Anderida, and even now retains the dcnomiua- 



48 MEMOIRS OF 

tion of the Weald^ or Wood-land. In this district, 
and in the hundred and parish of Eolvenden, the 
Gibbons were possessed of lands in the year 1326 ; 
and the elder branch of the family, without much in- 
crease or diminution of property, still adheres to its 
native S(nl. Fourteen years after the iirst appearance of 
his name, John Gibbon is recorded as the marmorarius 
or architect of King Edward the Third : the strong 
and stately castle of Queensborough, which guarded 
the entrance of the Medway, was a monument of his 
skill; and the grant of an hereditary toll on the passage 
from Sandwich to Stonar in the isle of Thanet is the 
reward of no vulgar artist. In the visitations of the 
heralds the Gibbons are frequently mentioned : they 
held the rank of esquire in an age when that title was 
less promiscuously assumed : one of them, in the reign 
of Queen Elizabeth, was captain of the militia of Kent ; 
and a free school in the neighboring town of Benen- 
den proclaims the charity and opulence of its founder. 
But time, or their own obscurity, has cast a veil of 
oblivion over the virtues and vices of my Kentish an- 
cestors ; their character or station confined them to the 
labors and pleasures of a rural life ; nor is it in my 
power to follow the advice of the poet, in an inquiry 
after a name, — 

" Go ! search it there, where to be born, and die, 
Of rich and poor makes all the history," — 

so recent is the institution of our parish registers. 
In the beginning of the seventeenth ceutury a younger 
branch of the Gibbons of Eolvenden migrated from 
the country to the city ; and from this branch I do not 
blush to descend. The law requires some abiUties, 
the church " imposes some restraints; and before our 



EDWARD GIBBON. 49 

army and navy, our civil establishments, and Indian 
empire, had opened so many paths of fortune, the 
mercantile profession was more frequently chosen by 
youths of a liberal race and education, who aspired to 
create their own independence. Our most respectable 
families have not disdained the counting-house, or 
even the shop ; their names are enrolled in the livery 
and companies of London ; and in England, as well as 
in the Italian commonwealths, heralds have been com- 
pelled to declare that gentility is not degraded by the 
exercise of trade. 

The armorial ensigns which in the times of chivalry 
adorned the crest and shield of the soldier are now be- 
come an empty decoration, which every man, who has 
money to build a carriage, may paint according to his 
fancy on the panels. My family arms are the same 
which were borne by the Gibbons of Kent in an age 
when the college of heralds religiously regarded the 
distiuctions of blood and name : a hon rampant gar- 
dant, between three scallop-shells argent, on a field 
azure. I should not, however, have been tempted to 
blazon my coat of arms, were it m^t connected with a 
whimsical anecdote. About the reign of James the 
First, the three harmless scallop-shells were changed by 
Edmund Gibbon, Esq., into three ogresses, or female 
cannibals, with a design of stigmatizing three ladies, 
his kinswomen, who had provoked him by an unjust 
lawsuit. But this singular mode of revenge, for which 
he obtained the sanction of Sir William Seagar, king 
at arms, soon expired with its author ; and on his own 
monument in the Temple Church the monsters vanish, 
and the three scallop-shells resume their proper and 
hereditary place. 

Our alliances by marriage it is not disgraceful to 



50 MEMOIRS OF 

mention. The chief honor of my ancestry is James 
Fiens^ Baron Say and Scale, and Lord High Treasurer 
of England, in the reign of Henry the Sixth; from 
whom, hy the Phelips, the Whetnalls, and the Cromers, 
I am lineally descended in the eleventh degree. His 
dismission and imprisonment in the Tower were insuf- 
ficient to appease the popular clamor; and the treas- 
urer, with his son-in-law Cromer, was beheaded (1450), 
after a mock trial by the Kentish insurgents. The 
black list of his ofiences, as it is exhibited in Shake- 
speare, displays the ignorance and envy of a plebeian 
tyrant. Besides the vague reproaches of selling Maine 
and Normandy to the dauphin, the treasurer is espe- 
cially accused of luxury, for riding on a foot-cloth, and 
of treason, for speaking French, the language of our 
enemies. ^^ Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the 
youth of the realm," says Jack Cade to the unfoitunate 
lord, *4n erecting a grammar school; and whereas be- 
fore, our forefathers had no other books than the score 
and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used; 
and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou 
hast built a paper-mill. It will be jjroved to thy face, 
that thou hast men about thee who usually talk of a 
noun and a verb, and such abominable words as no 
Christian ear can endure to hear.'^ Our dramatic poet 
is generally more attentive to character than to history; 
and I much fear that the art of printing was not intro- 
duced into England till several years after Lord Say^s 
death : but of some of these meritorious crimes I should 
hope to find my ancestor guilty ; and a man of letters 
may be proud of his descent from a patron and martyr 
of learning. 

In the beginning of the last century, Robert Gibbon, 
Esq., of Rolvenden in Kent (who died in 1618), had a 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 51 

son of the same name of Robert, who settled in Lon- 
don, and became a member of the clothworkers' com- 
pany. His wife was a daughter of the Edgars, who 
flourished about four hundred years in the county of 
Suffolk, and produced an eminent and wealthy sergeant- 
at-law, Sir Gregory Edgar, in the reign of Henry the 
Seventh. Of the sons of Robert Gibbon (who died in 
1643), Matthew did not aspire above the station of a 
linen-draper in Leadenhall Street ; but John has given 
to the public some curious memorials of his existence, 
his character, and his family. He was born on the 
3d of November in the year 1629 ; his education was 
liberal, at a grammar school, and afterwards in Jesus 
College at Cambridge ; and he celebrates the retired 
content which he enjoyed at Allesborough in Worces- 
tershire, in the house of Thomas Lord Coventry, where 
he was employed as a domestic tutor. But the spirit 
of my kinsman soon emerged into more active hfe ; 
he visited foreign countries as a soldier and a traveller, 
acquired the knowledge of the French and Spanish lan- 
guages, passed some time in the isle of Jersey, crossed 
the Atlantic, and resided upwards of a twelvemonth 
(1659) in the rising colony of Virginia. In this remote 
province, his taste, or rather passion, for heraldry found 
a single gratification at a war-dance of the native In- 
dians. As they moved in measured steps, brandishing 
their tomahawks, his curious eye contemplated their 
little shields of bark, and their naked bodies, which 
were painted with the colors and symbols of his favorite 
science. " At which/' says he '^ I exceedingly wondered, 
and concluded that heraldry was ingrafted naturally into 
the sense of human race. If so, it deserves a greater 
esteem than nowadays is put upon it." His return 
to England after the restoration was soon followed by 



02 MEMOIRS OF 

liis marriage, — his settlement in a house in St. Cath- 
erine's Cloister near the Tower, which devolved to my 
grandfather, — and his introduction into the herald's 
college (in 1671) hy the style and title of Blue-mantle 
Pursuivant at Arms. In this office he enjoyed, near 
fifty years, the rare felicity of uniting in the same pur- 
suit his duty and inclination : his name is remembered 
in the college, and many of his letters are still pre- 
served. Several of the most respectable characters cf 
the age, Sir William Dugdale, Mr. Ashmole, Dr. John 
Betts, and Dr. Nehemiah Grew, were his friends ; and 
in the society of such men John Gibbon may be re- 
corded without disgrace as the member of an astrologi- 
cal club. The study of hereditary honors is favorable 
to the royal prerogative; and my kinsman, like most 
of his family, was a high Tory, both in church and 
state. In the latter end of the reign of Charles the 
Second, his pen was exercised in the cause of the Duke 
of York ] the republican faction he most cordially de- 
tested ; and as each animal is conscious of its proper 
arms, the herald's revenge was emblazoned on a most 
diabolical escutcheon. But the triumph of the Whig 
government checked the preferment of Blue-mantle; 
and he was even suspended from his office till his tongue 
could learn to pronounce the oath of abjuration. His 
life was prolonged to tjie age of ninety ) and, in the 
expectation of the inevitable though uncertain hour, he 
wishes to preserve the blessings of health, competence, 
and virtue. In the year 1682 he published at London 
his ^^ Introductio ad Latinam Blasonium" ; an original 
attempt, which Camden had desiderated, to define in 
a Roman idiom the terms and attributes of a Gothic 
institution. It is not two years since I acquired, in a 
foreign land, some domestic intelligence of my own 



EDWARD GIBBON. 53 

family; and this intelligence was conveyed to Switzer- 
land from the heart of Germany. I had formed an 
acquaintance with Mr. Langer, a lively and ingenious 
scholar, while he resided at Lausanne as preceptor to 
the hereditary Prince of Brunswick. On his return 
to his proper station of librarian to the ducal library of 
Wolfenbuttel, he accidentally found among some liter- 
ary rubbish a small old English volume of heraldry, 
inscribed with the name of John Gibbon. From the 
title only Mr. Langer judged that it might be an ac- 
ceptable present to his Mend; and he judged rightly. 
His manner is quaint and affected ; his order is con- 
fused; but he displays some wit, more reading, and 
still more enthusiasm; and if an enthusiast be often 
absurd, he is never languid. An English text is per- 
petually interspersed with Latin sentences in prose and 
verse ; but in his own poetry he claims an exemption 
from the laws of prosody. Amidst a profusion of genea- 
logical knowledge, my kinsman could not be forgetful 
of his own name ; and to him I am indebted for almost 
the whole information concerning the Gibbon family. 
From this small work (a duodecimo of one hundred and 
sixty-five pages) the author expected immortal fame ; 
and at the conclusion of his labor he sings, in a strain 
of self-exultation : — 

" Usque hue corrigitur Romana Blasonia per me; 

Verborumque dehinc barbara forma cadat. 
Hie Hber, in meritum si forsitaii incidet usum. 

Testis rite mese seduhtatis erit. 
Quiequid agat Zoilus, ventura fatibitur setas 

Artis quod fueram non Clypearis inops." 

Such are the hopes of authors ! In the failure of 
those hopes John Gibbon has not been the first of his 
profession, and very possibly may not be the last of 



54 MEMOIRS OF 

his "Qanie. His brother Matthew Gihbon, the draper, 
had one daughter and two sons, — my grandfather 
Edward, who was horn in the year 1666, and Thomas, 
afterwards Dean of Carlisle. According to the mer- 
cantile creed, that the best book is a profitable ledger, 
the writings of John the herald would be much less 
precious than those of his nephew Edward : but an 
author professes at least to write for the public benefit } 
and the slow balance of trade can be pleasing to those 
persons only to whom it is advantageous. The suc- 
cessful industry of my grandfather raised him above 
the level of his immediate ancestors; he appears to 
have launched into various and extensive dealings : 
even his opinions were subordinate to his interest; 
and I find him in Flanders, clothing king William^s 
troops, while he would have contracted with more 
pleasure, though not perhaps at a cheaper rate, for 
the service of King James. During his residence 
abroad, his concerns at home were managed by his 
mother Hester, an active and notable woman. Her 
second husband was a widower of the name of Acton : 
they united the children of their first nuptials. After 
his marriage with the daughter of Richard Acton, 
goldsmith in Leadenhall Street, he gave his own sister 
to Sir Whitmore Acton, of Aldenham ; and I am thus 
connected, by a triple alliance, with that ancient and 
loyal family of Shropshire baronets. It consisted about 
that time of seven brothers, all of gigantic stature; 
one of whom, a pygmy of six feet two inches, confessed 
himself the last and the least of the seven ; adding, in 
the true spirit of party, that such men were not born 
since the revolution. Under the Tory administration 
of the four last years of Queen Anne (1710-14) 
Mr. Edward Gibbon was appointed one of the com- 



EDWARD GIBBON. 55 

iriissioners of the customs ; he sat at that board with 
Prior: but the merchant was better qualified for his 
station than the poet^ since Lord Bolingbroke has 
been heard to declare that he had never conversed 
with a man who more clearly understood the com- 
merce and finances of England. In the year 1716 he 
was elected one of the directors of the South Sea Com- 
pany ; and his books exhibited the proof that^ before 
his acceptance of this fatal office, he had acquired an 
independent fortune of sixty thousand pounds. 

But his fortune was overwhelmed in the shipwreck 
of the year — 20, and the labors of thirty years were 
blasted in a single day. Of the use or abuse of the 
South Sea scheme, of the guilt or innocence of my 
grandfather and his brother directors, I am neither a 
competent nor a disinterested judge. Yet the equity of 
modern times must condemn the violent and arbitrary 
proceedings which would have disgraced the cause of 
justice, and would render injustice still more odious. 
No sooner had the nation awakened from its golden 
dream, than a popular and even a parliamentary 
clamor demanded their victims } but it was acknowl- 
edged on all sides, that the South Sea directors, how- 
ever guilty, could not be touched by any known laws 
of the land. The speech of Lord Molesworth, the 
author of ^^ The State of Denmark," may show the 
temper, or rather the intemperance, of the House of 
Commons. ^' Extraordinary crimes," exclaimed that 
ardent Whig, '^call aloud for extraordinary remedies. 
The Roman lawgivers had not foreseen the possible 
existence of a parricide ; but as soon as the first monster 
appeared, he was sewn in a sack, and cast headlong 
into the river; and I shall be content to infiict the 
same treatment on the authors of our present ruin." 



56 MEMOIRS OF 

His motion was not literally adopted ; but a bill of 
pains and penalties was introduced, a retroactive 
statute, to punish the offences which did not exist at 
the time they were committed. Such a pernicious 
violation of liberty and law can be excused only by 
the most imperious necessity ; nor could it be defended 
on this occasion by the plea of impending danger or 
useful example. The legislature restrained the per- 
sons of the directors, imposed an exorbitant security 
for their appearance, and marked their characters 
with a previous note of ignominy : they w^ere com- 
pelled to deliver, upon oath, the strict value of their 
estates ; and were disabled from making any transfer 
or alienation of any part of their property. Against 
a bill of pains and penalties it is the common right 
of every subject to be heard by his counsel at the bar : 
they prayed to be heard ; their prayer was refused ; 
and their oppressors, who required no evidence, would 
listen to no defence. All were condemned, absent and 
unheard, in arbitrary fines and forfeitures, which swept 
away the greatest part of their substance. 

My grandfather could not expect to be treated with 
more lenity than his companions. His Tory priuciples 
and connections rendered him obnoxious to the ruling 
powers : his name is reported in a suspicious secret ; 
and his well-known abilities could not plead the ex- 
cuse of ignorance or error. In the first proceedings 
against the South Sea directors, Mr. Gibbon is one 
of the few who were taken into custody ; and, in the 
final sentence, the measure of his fine proclaims him 
eminently guilty. The total estimate which he deliv- 
ered on oath to the House of Commons amounted to 
£ 106,543 5.S. 6d. exclusive of antecedent settlements. 
Two different allowances of £ 15,000 and of £ 10,000 



EDWARD GIBBON. 57 

were moved for Mr. Gibbon ; but, on the question being 
put, it was carried without a division for the smaller 
sum. On these ruins, with the skill and credit of 
which Parliament had not been able to despoil him, 
my grandfather, at a mature age, erected the edifice of a 
new fortune : the labors of sixteen years were amply 
rewarded ; and I have reason to believe that the second 
structure was not much inferior to the first. He had 
realized a very considerable property in Sussex, Hamp- 
shire, Buckinghamshire, and the New River Company; 
and had acquired a spacious house,* with gardens and 
lands, at Putney in Surrey, where he resided in decent 
hospitality. He died in December, 1736, at the age 
of seventy ; and by his last will, at the expense of 
Edward, his only son (with whose marriage he was 
not perfectly reconciled), enriched his two daughters, 
Catherine and Hester. The former became the wife 
of Mr. Edward Elliston ; their daughter and heiress, 
Catherine, was married in the year 1756 to Edward 
Eliot, Esq. (now Lord Eliot), of Port Eliot in the 
county of Cornwall ; and their three sons are my near- 
est male relations on the father^s side. A life of devo- 
tion and celibacy was the choice of my aunt, Mrs. 
Hester Gibbon, who, at the age of eighty-five, still 
resides in a hermitage at Clifte in Northamptonshire, 
having long survived her spiritual guide and faithful 
companion, Mr. William Law, who, at an advanced 
age, about the year 1761, died in her house. In our 
family he had left the reputation of a worthy and pious 
man, who believed all that he professed, and practised 
all that he enjinned. The character of a non-juror, 
which he maintained to the last, is a sufficient evidence 

* Since inhabited by Mr. Wood, Sir John Shelley, the Duke of Norfolk, 
etc. S. 



58 MEMOIRS OF 

of his principles in ehureli and state ; and the sacrifice 
of interest to conscience will be always respectable. 
His theological writings, which our domestic connection 
has tempted me to peruse^ preserve an imperfect sort 
of life, and I can pronounce with more confidence and 
knowledge on the merits of the author. His last com- 
positions are darkly tinctured by the incomprehensible 
visions of Jacob Behmen ; and his discourse on the 
absolute unlawfulness of stage-entertainments is some- 
times quoted for a ridiculous intemperance of sentiment 
and language. ^' The actors and spectators must all 
be damned ; the playhouse is the porch of hell, the 
place of the Devil's abode, where he holds his filthy 
court of evil spirits : a play is the Devil's triumph, a 
sacrifice performed to his glory, as much as in the 
heathen temples of Bacchus or Venus," etc., etc. But 
these sallies of religious frenzy must not extinguish the 
praise which is due to Mr. William Law as a w^it and 
a scholar. His argument on topics of less absurdity is 
specious and acute, his manner is lively, his style for- 
cible and clear ; and had not his vigorous mind been 
clouded by enthusiasm, he might be ranked with the 
most agreeable and ingenious writers of the times. 
"While the Bangorian controversy was a fashionable 
theme, he entered the lists on the subject of Christ's 
kingdom and the authority of the priesthood : against 
the plain account of the sacrament of the Lord's Sup- 
per he resumed the combat with Bishop Hoadley, the 
object of Whig idolatry and Tory abhorrence ; and at 
every weapon of attack and defence the non -juror, on 
the ground which is common to both, approves himself 
at least equal to the prelate. On the appearance of the 
^^ Fable of the Bees/' he drew his pen against the 
licentious doctrine that private vices are public benefits ; 



EDWAED GIBBON. 59 

and morality as well as religion must join in his ap- 
plause. Mr. Law^s master- work, the ^' Serious Call/' 
is still read as a popular and powerful book of devotion. 
His precepts are rigid, hut they are founded on the 
gospel ; his satire is sharp, hut it is drawn from the 
knowledge of human life ; and many of his portraits 
are not unworthy of the pen of La Bruyere. If he 
finds a spark of piety in his reader's mind, he will soon 
kindle it to a flame ; and a philosopher must allow that 
he exposes, with equal severity and truth, the strange 
contradiction between the faith and practice of the 
Christian world. Under the names of Flavia and Mi- 
randa he has admirably described my two aunts, — the 
Heathen and the Christian sister. 

My father, Edward Gibbon, was born in October, 
1707 : at the age of thirteen he could scarcely feel that 
he was disinherited by act of Parliament ; and, as he 
advanced towards manhood, new prospects of fortune 
opened to his view. A parent is most attentive to 
supply in his children the deficiencies of which he is 
conscious in himself: my grandfather's knowledge was 
derived from a strong understanding, and the experi- 
ence of the ways of men ) but my father enjoyed the 
benefits of a liberal education as a scholar and a gen- 
tleman. At Westminster School, and afterwards at 
Emanuel College in Cambridge, he passed through a 
regular course of academical discipline ; and the care 
of his learning and morals was intrusted to his private 
tutor, the same Mr. William Law. But the mind of a 
saint is above or below the present world ; and while 
the pupil proceeded on his travels, the tutor remained 
at Putney, the much-honored friend and spiritual direc- 
tor of the whole family. My father resided some time 
at Paris^ to acquire the fashionable exercises ; and as 



60 MEMOIRS OF 

his temper was warm and social^ he indulged in those 
pleasures for which the strictness of his former educa- 
tion had given him a keener relish. He afterwards 
visited several provinces of France ; hut his excursions 
were neither long nor remote } and the slender knowl- 
edge which he had gained of the French language was 
gradually obliterated. His passage through Besan^on 
is marked by a singular consequence in the chain of 
human events. In a dangerous illness Mr. Gibbon 
was attended, at his own request, by one of his kinsmen 
of the name of Acton, the younger brother of a younger 
brother, who had applied himself to the study of physic. 
During the slow recovery of his patient the physician 
himself was attacked by the malady of love : he mar- 
ried his mistress, renounced his country and religion, 
settled at Besan^on, and became the father of three 
sons, the eldest of whom. General Acton, is conspicu- 
ous in Europe as the principal minister of the King of 
the Two Sicihes. By an uncle whom another stroke 
of fortune had transplanted to Leghorn he was edu- 
cated in the naval service of the emperor ; and his 
valor and conduct in the command of the Tuscan 
frigates protected the retreat of the Spaniards from 
Algiers. On my father's return to England, he was 
chosen, in the general election of 1734, to serve in Par- 
liament for the borough of Petersfield } a burgage 
tenure, of which my grandfather possessed a weighty 
share, till he alienated (I know not why) such impor- 
tant property. In the opposition to Sir Robert Walpole 
and the Pelhams, prejudice and society connected his 
son with the Tories, — shall I say Jacobites, or, as 
they were pleased to style themselves, the country 
gentlemen ? With them he gave many a vote ; with 
them he drank many a bottle. Without acquiring the 



EDWAED GIBBON. 61 

fame of an orator or a statesman, he eagerly joined in 
the great opposition which, after a seven years' chase, 
hunted down Sir Kohert Walpole ; and in the pursuit 
of an unpopular minister, he gratified a private revenge 
against the oppressor of his family in the South Sea 
persecution. 

I was horn at Putney, in the county of Surrey, the 
27th of April, 0. S., in the year 1737 ', the first child 
of the marriage of Edward Gihhon, Esq., and of Judith 
Porten.* My lot might have been that of a skive, a 
savage, or a peasant ; nor can I reflect without pleas- 
ure on the bounty of nature, wdiich cast my birth in 
a free and civilized country, in an age of science and 
philosophy, in a family of honorable rank and decently 
endowed with the gifts of fortune. From my birth I 
have enjoyed the right of primogeniture ; but I w^as 
succeeded by five brothers and one sister, all of whom 
. w^ere snatched away in their infancy. My five brothers, 
whose names may be found in the parish register of 
Putney, I shall not pretend to lament ; but from my 
childhood to the present hour I have deeply and sin- 
cerely regretted my sister, whose life was somewhat 
prolonged, and whom I remember to have seen an 
amiable infant. The relation of a brother and a sister, 
especially if they do not marry, appears to me of a very 
singular nature. It is a familiar and tender friendship 
with a female much about our own age ; an affection 

* The union to which I owe my birth was a marriage of inclination and 
esteem. Mr. James Porten, a merchant of London, resided with his 
family at Putney, in a house adjoining to the bridge and churchyard, 
where I have passed many happy hours of my childiiood. He left one 
son (the late Sir Stanier Porten) and three daughters, — Catherine, who 
preserved her maiden name, and of Avhom I shall hereafter speak ; 
another daughter married Mr. Barrel of Richmond, and left two sons, 
Edward and llobertj the youngest of the three sisters was Judith, my 
mother. 



62 MEMOIRS OF 

perhaps softened by the secret influence of sex, hut 
pure from any mixture of sensual desire } the sole 
species of platonic love that can be indulged with truth 
and without danger. 

The death of a new-born child before that of its 
parents may seem an unnatural, but it is strictly a 
probable event ; since of any given number the greater 
part are extinguished before their ninth year, before 
they possess the faculties of the mind or body. With- 
out accusing the profuse waste or imperfect workman- 
ship of nature, I shall only observe that this unfavorable 
chance was multiplied against my infant existence. So 
feeble was my constitution, so precarious my life, that 
in the baptism of my brothers my father's prudence 
successively repeated my Christian name of Edward, 
that, in case of the departure of the eldest son, this 
patronymic appellation might be still perpetuated in the 
family. 

" Uno avulso non deficit alter." 

To preserve and to rear so frail a being, the most 
tender assiduity was scarcely sufficient ; and my moth- 
er's attention was somewhat diverted by her fiequent 
pregnancies, by an exclusive passion for her husband, 
and by the dissipation of the world, in which his taste 
and authority obliged her to mingle. But the maternal 
office was supplied by my aunt, Mrs. Catherine Porten, 
at whose name I feel a tear of gratitude trickling down 
my cheek. A life of celibacy transferred her vacant affec- 
tion to her sister's iirst child ; my weakness excited her 
pity ; her attachment was fortified by labor and success ; 
and if there be any, as I trust there are some, who re- 
joice that I live, to that dear and excellent woman 
they must hold themselves indebted. Many anxious 
and solitary days did she consume in the patient trial 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 63 

of every mode of relief and amusement. Many wakeful 
nights did she sit by my bedside in trembling expecta- 
tion that each hour would be my last. Of the various 
and frequent disoi'ders of my childhood my own recol- 
lection is dark^ nor do I wish to expatiate on so dis- 
gusting a topic. Suffice it to say, that while every 
practitioner, from Sloane and Ward to the Chevalier 
Taylor, was successively summoned to torture or relieve 
me, the care of my mind was too frequently neglected 
for that of my health ; compassion always suggested an 
excuse for the indulgence of the master or the idleness 
of the pupil ; and the chain of my education was broken 
as often as I was recalled from the school of learning to 
the bed of sickness. 

As soon as the use of speech had prepared my infant 
reason for the admission of knowledge, I was taught 
the arts of reading, writing, and arithmetic. So remote 
is the date, so vague is the memory, of their origin in 
myself, that, were not the error corrected by analogy, 
I should be tempted to conceive them as innate. In 
my childhood I was praised for the readiness with which 
I could multiply and divide, by memory alone, two 
sums of several figures : such praise encouraged my 
growing talent } and had I persevered in this line of 
applicati(m, I might have acquired some fame in mathe- 
matical studies. 

After this previous instruction at home, or at a day- 
school at Putney, I was delivered at the age of seven 
into the hands of Mr. John Kirby, who exercised about 
eighteen months the office of my domestic tutor. His 
own words, which I shall here transcribe, inspire in his 
favor a sentiment of pity and esteem. *^ During my 
abode in my native county of Cumberland, in quality 
of an indigent curate^ I used now and then in a sum- 



64 MEMOIRS OF 

mer, when the pleasantness of the season invited^ to 
take 'a solitary v^^alk to the seashore, which lies about 
two miles from the town where I lived. Here I would 
amuse myself, one while in Tiewiug at large the agree- 
able prospect which surrounded me, and another while 
confining my sight to nearer objects, in admiring the 
vast variety of beautiful shells thrown upon the beach j 
some of the choicest of which I always picked up, to 
divert my little ones upon my return. Onetime among 
the rest, taking such a journey in my head, I sat down 
upon the declivity of the beach with my face to the sea, 
which was now come up within a few yards of my feet ; 
when immediately the sad thoughts of the wretched 
condition of my family, and the unsuccessfulness of all 
endeavors to amend it, came crowding into my mind, 
which drove me into a deep melancholy, and ever and 
anon forced tears from my eyes." Distress at last 
forced him to leave the country. His learning and vir- 
tue introduced him to my father; and at Putney he 
might have found at least a temporary shelter, had not 
an act of indiscretion again driven him into the world. 
One day reading prayers in the parish church, he most 
unluckily forgot the name of King George ; his patron, 
a loyal subject, dismissed him with some reluctance, 
and a decent reward ; and how the poor man ended his 
days I have never been able to learn. Mr. John Kirby 
is the author of two small volumes : the Life of Auto- 
mathes (London, 1745), and an English and Latin 
Grammar (London, 1746) } which, as a testhnony of 
gratitude, he dedicated (November 5, 1745) to my 
father. The books are before me; from them the pupil 
may judge the preceptor; and, upon the whole, his 
judgment will not be unfavorable. The grammar is 
executed with accuracy and skill, and I know not 



EDWARD GIBBON". 65 

whether any better existed at the time in our language ; 
but the Life of Automathes aspires to the honors of a 
philosophical fiction. It is the story of a youth, the 
son of a shipwrecked exile^ who lives alone on a desert 
island from infiincy to the age of manhood. A hind is 
his nurse ; he inherits a cottage, with many useful and 
curious instruments ; some ideas remain of the educa- 
tion of his two first years ) some arts are borrowed 
from the beavers of a neighboring lake ; some truths 
are revealed in supernatural visions. With these helps 
and his own industry Automathes becomes a self-taught 
though speechless philosopher, who had investigated 
with success his own mind, the natural world, the ab- 
stract sciences, and the great principles of morality and 
religion. Th€ author is not entitled to the merit of 
invention, since he has blended the English story of 
Robinson Crusoe with the Arabian romance of Hal 
Ebu Yokhdan, which he might have read in the Latin 
version of Pocock. In the Automatlies I cannot praise 
either the depth of thought or elegance of style ] but 
the book is not devoid of entertainment or instruction ] 
and among several interesting passages I would select 
the discovery of fire, which produces by accidental 
mischief the discovery of conscience. A man who had 
thought so much on the subjects of language and edu- 
cation was surely no ordinary preceptor ; my childish 
years and his hasty departure prevented me from en- 
joying the full benefit of his lessons ; but they enlarged 
my knowledge of arithmetic, and left me a clear im- 
pression of the English and Latin rudiments. 

In my ninth year (January, 1746), in a lucid interval 
of comparative health, my fiither adopted the conven- 
ient and customary mode of English education ; and 
1 was sent to Kingston-upon- Thames, to a school of 



66 MEMOmS OF 

about seventy boys, AThich was kept by Dr. Wooddeson 
and Lis assistants. Every time I have since passed 
over Putney Common, I have always noticed the spot 
where my mother, as we drove along in the coach, ad- 
monished me that I was now going into the world, and 
must learn to think and act for myself. The expres- 
sion may appear ludicrous, yet there is not in the course 
of life a more remarkable change than the remoA^al of 
a child from the luxury and freedom of a wealthy house 
to the frugal diet and strict subordination of a school ; 
from the tenderness of parents and obsequiousness 
of servants to the rude familiarity of his equals, the 
insolent tyranny of his seniors, and the rod, perhaps, 
of a cruel and capricious pedagogue. Such hardships 
may steel the mind and body against the injuries of 
fortune } but my timid reserve was astonished by the 
crowd and tumult of the school ; the want of strength 
and activity disqualified me for the sports of play-field; 
nor have I forgotten how often in the year ^46 I was 
reviled and buffeted for the sins of my Tory ances- 
tors. By the common methods of discipline, at the 
expense of many tears and some blood, I purchased the 
knowledge of the Latin syntax } and not long since I 
was possessed of the dirty volumes of Pha^drus and 
Cornelius Nepos, which I painfully construed and 
darkly understood. The choice of these authors is not 
injudicious. The lives of Cornelius Nepos, the friend 
of Atticus and Cicero, are composed in the style of the 
purest age ; his simplicity is elegant, his brevity co- 
pious j he exhibits a series of men and manners ; and 
with such illustrations as every pedant is not indeed 
qualified to give, this classic biographer may initiate a 
young student in the history of Gteece and Rome. The 
use of fables or apologues has been approved in every 



EDWARD GIBBON. 67 

age from ancient India to modern Europe. They convey 
in familiar images the truths of morality and prudence ; 
and the most childish understanding (I advert to the 
scruples of Rousseau) will not suppose either that 
beasts do speak, or that men may lie. A fable repre- 
sents the genuine characters of animals ; and a skilful 
master might extract from Pliny and Buffon some pleas- 
ing lessons of natural history, a science well adapted 
to the taste and capacity of children. The latinity of 
Phaedrus is not exempt from an alloy of the silver age ; 
but his manner is concise, terse, and sententious : the 
Thracian slave discreetly breathes the spirit of a free- 
man ; and when the text is sound the style is perspicu- 
ous. But his fables, after a long oblivion, were first 
published by Peter Pithou, from a corrupt manuscript. 
The labors of fifty editors confess the defects of the 
copy, as well as the value of the original; and the 
school-b;)y may have been whipped for misapprehend- 
ing a passage which Bentley could not restore, and 
which Burman could not explain. 

My studies were too frequently interrupted by sick- 
ness ; and after a real or nominal residence at Kingston 
School for near two years, I was finally recalled (De- 
cember, 1747) by my mother's death, which was occa- 
sioned, in her thirty -eighth year, by the consequences 
of her last labor. I was too young to feel the impor- 
tance of my loss ; and the image of her person and con- 
versation is faintly imprinted in my memory. The 
affectionate heart of my aunt, Catherine Porten, be- 
wailed a sister and a friend ] but my poor father was 
inconsolable, and the transport of grief seemed to 
threaten his life or his reason. I can never forget the 
scene of our first interview some weeks after the fatal 
event; the awful silence, the room hung with black, 



68 MEMOIRS OF 

the midday tapers; his sighs and tears; his praises of 
my mother, a saint in heaven ; his solemn adjuration 
that I would cherish her memory and imitate her vir- 
tues ; and the fervor v/ith which he kissed and hlessed 
me as the sole surviving pledge of their loves. The 
storm of passion insensibly subsided into calmer melan- 
choly. At a convivial meeting of his friends Mr. Gib- 
bon might affect or enjoy a gleam of cheerfulness; but 
his plan of happiness was forever destroyed ; and after 
the loss of his companion, he was left alone in a world, 
of which the business and pleasures were to him irk- 
some or insipid. After some unsuccessful trials, he 
renounced the tumult of London and the hospitality 
of Putney, and buried himself in the rural, or rather 
rustic, solitude of Buriton ; from which, during several 
years, he seldom emerged. 

As far back as I can remember, the house, near 
Putney Bridge and the churchyard, of my maternal 
grandfather appears in the light of my proper and 
native home. It was there that I was allowed to spend 
the greatest part of my time, in sickness or in health, 
during my school vacations and my parents^ residence 
in London, and, finally, after my mother's death. 
Three months after that event, in the spring of 1748, 
the commercial ruin of her father, Mr. James Porten, 
was accomplished and declared. As his effects were 
not sold, nor the house evacuated till the Christmas 
following, I enjoyed during the whole year the society 
of my aunt, without much consciousness of her impend- 
ing fate. I feel a melancholy pleasure in repeating my 
obligations to that excellent woman, Mrs. Catherine 
Porten, the true mother of my mind as well as of my 
health. Her natural good sense was improved by the 
perusal of the best books in the English language ; and 



EDWARD GIBBON. 69 

if her reason was sometimes clouded by prejudice, her 
sentiments were never disguised by hypocrisy or affec- 
tation. Her indulgent tenderness, the frankness of her 
temper, and my innate rising curiosity, soon removed 
all distance between us : like friends of an equal age, 
we freely conversed on every topic, familiar or abstruse ; 
and it was her delight and reward to observe the first 
shoots of my yoimg ideas. Pain and languor were often 
soothed by the voice of instruction and amusement ; 
and to her kind lessons I ascribe my early and invin- 
cible love of reading, which I would not exchange for 
the treasures of India. I should perhaps be astonished, 
were it possible to ascertain the date at which a favor- 
ite tale was engraved by frequent repetition in my mem- 
ory, — the Cavern of the Winds ; the Palace of Felicity ; 
and the fatal moment, at the end of three months or 
centuries, when Prince Adolphus is overtaken by Time, 
who had worn out so many pair of wings in the pursuit. 
Before I left Kingston School I was well acquainted 
with Pope^s Homer and the Arabian Nights^ Enter- 
tainments, two books which will always please by 
the moving picture of human manners and specious 
miracles : nor was I then capable of discerning that 
Pope^s translation is a portrait endowed with every 
merit excepting that of likeness to the original. The 
verses of Pope accustomed my ear to the sound of 
poetic harmony : in the death of Hector, and the ship- 
wreck of Ulysses, I tasted the new emotions of terror 
and pity ; and seriously disputed with my aunt on the 
vices and virtues of the heroes of the Trojan war. 
From Pope's Homer to Dryden's Virgil was an easy 
transition ; but I know not how, from some fault in 
the author, the translator, or the reader, the pious 
^neas did not so forcibly seize on my imagination ; 



70 MEMOIRS OF 

and I derived more pleasure from Ovid^s Metamorpho- 
ses^ especially in the fall of Phaeton and the speeches 
of Ajax and Ulysses. My grandfather's flight un- 
locked the door of a tolerable library ; and I turned 
over many English pages of poetry and romance, ofhis- 
tory and travels. Where a title attracted my eye, with- 
out fear or awe, I snatched the volume from the shelf; 
and Mrs. Porten, who indulged herself in moral and 
religious speculations, was more prone to encourage 
than to check a curiosity above the strength of a boy. 
This year (1748), the twelfth of my age, I shall note as 
the most propitious to the growth of my intellectual 
stature. 

The relics of my grandfather's fortune afforded a bare 
annuity for his own maintenance } and his daughter, 
my worthy aunt, who had already passed her fortieth 
year, was left destitute. Her noble spirit scorned a 
life of obligation and dependence ; and after revolving 
several schemes, she preferred the humble industry of 
keeping a boarding-house for Westminster School,* 
where she laboriously earned a competence for her old 
age. This singular opportunity of blending the ad- 
vantages of private and public education decided my 
father. After the Christmas holidays, in January, 
1749, I accompanied Mrs. Porten to her new house in 
College Street, and was immediately entered in the 
school, of which Dr. John Nicoll was at that time head 
master. At first I was alone ; but my aunt's resolution 
was praised, her character was esteemed, her friends 
were numerous and active. In the course of some 
years she became the mother of forty or fifty boys, for 

* It is said in the family tliat she was principally induced to this 
undertaking by her affection for her nephew, M-^hose weak constitution 
required her constant and unremitted attention. S. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 71 

the most part of family and fortune ; and as her primi- 
tive habitation was too narrow, she built and occupied 
a spacious mansion in Dean's Yard. I shall always be 
ready to join in the common opinion that our public 
schools, which have produced so many eminent charac- 
ters, are the best adapted to the genius and constitution 
of the English people. A boy of spirit may acquire a 
previous and practical experience of the world; and 
his playfellows may be the future friends of his heart or 
his interest. In a free intercourse with his equals, the 
habits of truth, fortitude, and prudence will insensibly 
be matured. Birth and riches are measured by the 
standard of personal merit } and the mimic scene of a re- 
bellion has displayed, in their true colors, the ministers 
and patriots of the rising generation. Our seminaries 
of learning do not exactly correspond with the precept 
of a Spartan king, ^'that the child should be instructed 
in the arts which will be useful to the man " ; since a 
finished scholar may emerge from the head of West- 
minster or Eton, in total ignorance of the business and 
conversation of English gentlemen in the latter end of 
the eighteenth century. But these schools may assume 
the merit of teaching all that they pretend to teach, the 
Latin and Greek languages ; they deposit in the hands 
of a disciple the keys of two valuable chests ; nor can 
he complain, if they are afterwards lost or neglected 
by his own fault. The necessity of leading in equal 
ranks so many unequal powers of capacity and appli- 
cation will prolong to eight or ten years the juvenile 
studies which might be despatched in half that time by 
the skilful master of a single pupil. Yet even the repe- 
tition of exercise and discipline contributes to fix in a 
vacant mind the verbal science of grammar and pros- 
ody : and the private or voluntary student, who pos- 



72 MEMOIRS OF 

sesses the sense and spirit of the classics, may offend 
by a false quantity the scrupulous ear of a well-flogged 
critic. For myself, I must be content with a very 
small share of the civil and literary fruits of a public 
school. In the space of two years (1749, 1750), inter- 
rupted by danger and debihty, I painfully climbed into 
the third form } and my riper age was left to acquire 
the beauties of the Latin and the rudiments of the 
Greek tongue. Instead of audaciously mingling in the 
sports, the quarrels, and the connections of our little 
world, I was still cherished at home under the maternal 
wing of my aunt ; and my removal from Westminster 
long preceded the approach of manhood. 

The violence and variety of my complaints, which 
had excused my frequent absence from Westminster 
School, at length engaged Mrs. Porten^ with the advice 
of physicians, to conduct me to Bath : at the end of 
the Michaelmas vacation (1750) she quitted me with 
reluctance, and I remained several months under the 
care of a trusty maid-servant. A strange nervous 
affection, which alternately contracted my legs and 
produced, without any visible symptoms, the most 
excruciating pain, was ineffectually opposed by the 
various methods of bathing and pumping. From 
Bath I was transported to Winchester, to the house 
of a physician; and after the failure of his medical 
skill, we had again recourse to the virtues of the Bath 
waters. During the intervals of these fits I moved 
with my father to Buriton and Putney; and a short 
unsuccessful trial was attempted to renew my attend- 
ance at Westminster School. But my infirmities could 
not be reconciled with the hours and discipline of a 
public seminary } and instead of a domestic tutor, who 
might have watched the favorable moments, and gently 



EDWARD GIBBON. 73 

advanced the progress of my learning, my father was 
too easily content with such occasional teachers as the 
different places of my residence could supply. I was 
never forced, and seldom was I persuaded, to admit 
these lessons : yet I read with a clergyman at Bath 
some odes of Horace and several episodes of Virgil, 
which gave me an imperfect and transient enjoyment 
of the Latin poets. It might now be apprehended 
that I should continue for life an illiterate cripple ; but 
as I approached my sixteenth year, Nature displayed 
in my favor her mysterious energies : my constitution 
was fortified and fixed ; and my disorders, instead of 
growing with my growth and strengthening with my 
strength, most wonderfully vanished. I have never 
possessed or abused the insolence of health : but since 
that time few persons have been more exempt from 
real or imaginary ills ; and, till I am admonished by 
the gout, the reader will no more be troubled with 
the history of my bodily complaints. My unexpected 
recovery again encouraged the hope of my education ; 
and I was placed at Esher, in Surrey, in the house of 
the Eeverend Mr. Philip Francis, in a pleasant spot 
which promised to unite the various benefits of air, 
exercise, and study (January, 1752). The translator 
of Horace might have taught me to relish the Latin 
poets, had not my friends discovered, in a few weeks, 
that he preferred the pleasures of London to the in- 
struction of his pupils. My father's pei-plexity at this 
time, rather than his prudence, was urged to embrace 
a singular and desperate measure. Without prepara- 
tion or delay he carried me to Oxford; and I was 
matriculated in the university as a gentleman -com- 
moner of Magdalen College, before I had accomplished 
the fifteenth year of my age (April 3, 1752). 



74 MEMOIRS OF 

The curiosity which had been implanted in my 
infant mind was still alive and active; but my reason 
was not sufficiently informed to understand the value, 
or to lament the loss, of three precious years from my 
entrance at Westminster to my admission at Oxford. 
Instead of repining at my long and frequent confine- 
ment to the chamber or the couch, I secretly rejoiced 
in those infirmities which delivered me from the exer- 
cises of the school and the society of my equals. As 
often as I was tolerably exempt from danger and pain, 
reading, free desultory reading, was the employment 
and comfort of my solitary hours. At Westminster 
my aunt sought only to amuse and indulge me 5 in 
my stations at Bath and Winchester, at Buriton and 
Putney, a false compassion respected my sufferings ; 
and I was allowed, without control or advice, to gratify 
the wanderings of an unripe taste. My indiscriminate 
appetite subsided by degrees in the historic line ; and 
since philosophy has exploded all innate ideas and 
natural propensities, I must ascribe this choice to the 
assiduous perusal of the Universal History, as the 
octavo volumes successively appeared. This unequal 
work, and a treatise of Hearne, the ^^ Ductor Histori- 
cus," referred and introduced me to the Greek and 
Eoman historians, to as many at least as were accessible 
to an English reader. All that I could find were 
greedily devoured, from Littlebmys lame Herodotus, 
and Spelman's valuable Xenophon, to the pompous 
folios of Gordon^s Tacitus, and a ragged Procopius of 
the beginning of the last century. The cheap acqui- 
sition of so much knowledge confirmed my dislike to 
the study of languages } and I argued with Mrs. Porten, 
that were I master- of Greek and Latin, I must inter- 
pret to myself in English the thoughts of the original, 



EDWARD GIBBON. 75 

and that such extemporary versions must be inferior 
to the elaborate translations of professed scholars; a 
silly sophism^ which could not easily be confuted by a 
person ignorant of any other language than her own. 
From the ancient I leaped to the modern world : many 
crude lumps of Speed, liapin, Mezeray, Davila, Machi- 
avel; Father Paul, Bower, etc., I devoured like so 
many novels; and I swallowed with the same vora- 
cious appetite the descriptions of India and China, of 
Mexico and Peru. 

My first introduction to the historic scenes which 
have since engaged so many years of my life must be 
ascribed to an accident. In the summer of 1751 I 
accompanied my father on a visit to Mr. Hoare's in 
Wiltshire ; but I was less delighted with the beauties 
of Stourhead than with discovering in the library a 
common book, the ^^Continuation of Echard^s Roman 
History," which is indeed executed with more skill and 
taste than the previous work. To me the reigns of 
the successors of Constantine were absolutely new; 
and I was immersed in the passage of the Goths over 
the Danube, when the summons of the dinner-bell 
reluctantly dragged me from my intellectual feast. 
This transient glance served rather to irritate than to 
appease my curiosity; and as soon as I returned to 
Bath, I procured the second and third volumes of 
HowePs ^^ History of the World," which exhibit the 
Byzantine period on a larger scale. Mahomet and his 
Saracens soon fixed my attention; and some instinct 
of criticism directed me to the genuine sources. Simon 
Ockley, an original in every sense, first opened my 
eyes ; and I was led from one book to another till I 
had ranged round the circle of Oriental history. Be- 
fore I was sixteen, I had exhausted all that could be 



76 MEMOIRS OF 

learned in English of the Arabs and Persians, the 
Tartars and Turks } and the same ardor urged me to 
guess at the French of D'Herhelot, and to construe 
the barbarous Latin of Pocock^s Abulfaragius. Such 
vague and multifarious reading could not teach me to 
think, to write, or to act ; and the only principle that 
darted a ray of light into the indigested chaos was 
an early and rational application to the order of time 
and place. The maps of Cellarius and Wells im- 
printed in my mind the picture of ancient geography : 
from Stranchius 1 imbibed the elements of chronology ; 
the Tables of Helvicius and Anderson, the Annals 
of Usher and Prideaux, distinguished the connec- 
tion of events, and engraved the multitude of names 
and dates in a clear and indelible series. But in the 
discussion of the first ages I overleaped the bounds 
of modesty and use. In my childish balance I pre- 
sumed to weigh the systems of Scaliger and Petavius, 
of Marsham and Newton, which I could seldom study 
in the originals ; and my sleep has been disturbed by 
the difficulty of reconciling the Septuagint with the 
Hebrew computation. I arrived at Oxford with a 
stock of erudition that might have puzzled a doctor, 
and a degree of ignorance of which a school-boy would 
have been ashamed. 

At the conclusion of this first period of my life, I am 
tempted to enter a protest against the trite and lavish 
praise of the happiness of our boyish years, which is 
echoed with so much affectation in the world. That 
happiness I have never known, that time I have never 
regretted} and were my poor aunt still alive, she 
would bear testimony to the early and constant uni- 
formity of my sentiments. It will indeed be replied, 
that I am not a competent judge; that pleasure is 



EDWARD GIBBON. 77 

incompatible with pain ; that joy is exduded from sick- 
ness ; and that the felicity of a school-hoy consists in the 
perpetual motion of thoughtless and playful agility, in 
which I was never qualified to excel. My name, it is 
most true, could never he enrolled among the sprightly 
race, the idle progeny of Eton or Westminster, 

" Who foremost might delight to cleave, 
With pharit arm, the glassy wave, 
Or urge the flying ball." 

The poet may gayly describe the short hours of recrea- 
tion; but he forgets the daily tedious labors of the 
school, which is approached each morning with anx- 
ious and reluctant steps. 

A traveller who visits Oxft^rd or Cambridge is sur- 
prised and edified by the apparent order and tranquil- 
lity that prevail in the seats of the English Muses. In 
the most celebrated universities of Holland, Germany, 
and Italy the students, v/ho swarm from different 
countries, are loosely dispersed in private lodgings at 
the houses of the burghers ; they dress according to 
their fancy and fortune ; and in the intemperate quar- 
rels of youth and wine, their swords, though less fre- 
quently than of old, are sometimes stained with each 
other^s blood. The use of arms is banished from our 
English universities; the uniform habit of the aca- 
demics, the square cap and black gown, is adapted to 
the civil and even the clerical profession ; and from the 
doctor in divinity to the undergraduate, the degrees of 
learning and age are externally distinguished. In- 
stead of being scattered in a town, the students of 
Oxford and Cambridge are united in colleges ; their 
maintenance is provided at their own expense, or that 
of the founders ; and the stated hours of the hall and 



78 MEMOIRS OF 

chapel represent the discipline of a regular, and, as it 
were, a religious community. The eyes of the traveller 
are attracted hy the size or beauty of the public edi- 
fices ; and the principal colleges appear to be so many 
palaces, which a liberal nation has erected and endowed 
for the habitation of science. My own introduction to 
the University of Oxford forms a new era in my life ; 
and at the distance of forty years I still remember my 
first emotions of surprise and satisfaction. In my fif- 
teenth year I felt myself suddenly raised from a boy to 
a man; the persons whom I respected as my superiors 
in age and academical rank entertained me with every 
mark of attention and civility; and my vanity was 
flattered by the velvet cap and silk gown which distin- 
guish a gentleman -commoner from a plebeian student. 
A decent allowance, more money than a school-boy 
had ever seen, was at my own disposal ; and I might 
command, among the tradesmen of Oxford, an indefi- 
nite and dangerous latitude of credit. A key was de- 
livered into my hands, which gave me the free use of a 
numerous and learned library ; my apartments consisted 
of three elegant and well -furnished rooms in the new 
building — a stately pile — of Magdalen College ; and 
the adjacent walks, had they been frequented by Plato^s 
disciples, might have been compared to the Attic shade 
on the banks of the Ilissus. Such was the fair pros- 
pect of my entrance (April 3, 1752) into the University 
of Oxford. 

The expression of gratitude is a virtue and a pleas- 
ure : a liberal mind will delight to cherish and cele- 
brate the memory of its parents ; and the teachers of 
science are the parents of the mind. I applaud the 
filial piety which it is hnpossible for me to imitate ; 
since 1 must not confess an imaginary debt, to assume 



EDWARD GIBBON. 79 

the merit of a just or generous retribution. To the 
University of Oxford I acknowledge no obligation ; and 
she will as cheerfully renounce me for a son, as I am 
willing to disclaim her for a mother. I spent fourteen 
months at Magdalen College ; they proved the fourteen 
months the most idle and unprofitable of my whole 
life. The reader will pronounce between the school 
and the scholar; but I cannot affect to believe that 
Nature had disqualified me for all literary pursuits. 
The specious and ready excuse of my tender age, im- 
perfect preparation, and hasty departure may doubt- 
less be alleged; nor do I wish to defraud such excuses 
of their proper weight. Yet in my sixteenth year I 
was not devoid of capacity or application : even my 
childish reading had displayed an early though blind 
propensity for books ; and the shallow flood might 
have been taught to flow in a deep channel and a 
clear stream. In the discipline of a well-constituted 
academy, under the guidance of skilful and vigilant 
professors, I should gradually have risen from transla- 
tions to originals, from the Latin to the Greek classics, 
from dead languages to living science : my hours 
w^ould have been occupied by useful and agreeable 
studies, the wanderings of fancy would have been re- 
strained, and I should have escaped the temptations of 
idleness, which finally precipitated my departure from 
Oxford. 

Perhaps in a separate annotation I may coolly ex- 
amine the fabulous and real antiquities of our sister 
universities, a question which has kindled such fierce 
and foolish disputes among their fanatic sons. In the 
mean while it will be acknowledged that these vener- 
able bodies are sufficiently old to partake of all the 
prejudices and infirmities of age. The schools of Ox- 



80 MEMOIRS OF 

ford and Cambridge were founded in a dark age of false 
and barbarous science ; and they are still tainted with 
the vices of their origin. Their primitive discipline 
was adapted to the education of priests and monks ; 
and the government still remains in the hands of the 
clergy, an order of men whose manners are remote 
from the present world, and whose eyes are dazzled by 
the light of philosophy. The legal incorporation of 
these societies by the charters of popes and kings had 
given them a monopoly of the public instruction ; and 
the spirit of monopolists is narrow, lazy, and oppres- 
sive : their work is more costly and less productive 
than that of independent artists } and the new improve- 
ments so eagerly grasped by the competition of free- 
dom are admitted with slow and sullen reluctance in 
those proud corporations, above the fear of a rival and 
below the confession of an error. We may scarcely 
hope that any reformation will be a voluntary act 5 
and so deeply are they rooted in law and prejudice, 
that even the omnipotence of Parliament would shrink 
from an inquiry into the state and abuses of the two 
universities. 

The use of academical degrees, as old as the thir- 
teenth century, is visibly borrowed from the mechanic 
corporations, in which an apprentice, after serving his 
time, obtains a testimonial of his skill, and a licen,se to 
practise his trade and mystery. It is not my design 
to depreciate those honors, which could never gratify 
or disappoint my ambition ; and I should applaud the 
institution, if the degrees of bachelor or licentiate were 
bestowed as the reward of manly and successful study ; 
if the name and rank of doctor or master were strictly 
reserved for the professors of science who have approved 
their title to the public esteem. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 81 

In all the universities of Europe, excepting our own, 
the languages and sciences are distributed among a 
numerous list of effective professors : the students, 
according to their taste, their calling, and their dili- 
gence, apply themselves to the proper masters ; and 
in the annual repetition of public and private lectures 
these masters are assiduously employed. Our curi- 
osity may inquire what number of professors has been 
instituted at Oxford (for I shall now confine myself 
to my own university) ; by whom they are appointed, 
and what may be the probable chances of merit or in- 
capacity ; how many are stationed to the three facul- 
ties, and how many are left for the liberal arts ; w^hat 
is the form, and what the substance, of their less(>ns. 
But all these questions are silenced by one short and 
singular answer, that ^4n the University of Oxford 
the greater part of the public professors have for these 
many years given up altogether even the pretence of 
teaching." Incredible as the fact may appear, I must 
rest my belief on the positive and impartial evidence 
of a master of moral and political wisdom, who had 
himself resided at Oxford. Dr. Adam Smith assigns 
as the cause of their indolence that, instead of being- 
paid by voluntary contributions, which would urge 
them to increase the number and to deserve the grati- 
tude of their pupils, the Oxford professors are secure in 
the enjoyment of a fixed stipend, without the necessity 
of labor, or the apprehension of control. It has indeed 
been observed, nor is the observation absurd, that 
excepting in experimental sciences, which demand a 
costly apparatus and a dexterous hand, the many val- 
uable treatises that have been published on every sub- 
ject of learning may now supersede the ancient mode 
of oral instruction. Were this principle true in its ut- 



82 MEMOIRS OF 

most latitude, I should only infer that the offices and 
salaries which are hecome useless ought without delay 
to he aholished. But the e still remains a material 
difference hetween a hook and a professor ; the hour 
of the lecture enforces attendance; attention is fixed hy 
the presence, the voice, and the occasional questions 
of the teacher; the most idle will carry something 
away ; and the more diligent will compare the in- 
structions which they have heard in the school with 
the volumes which they peruse in their chamher. The 
advice of a shilful professor will adapt a course of read- 
ing to evcn-y mind and every situation ; his authority 
will discover, admonish, and at last chastise, the neg- 
ligence of his disciples ; and his vigilant inquiries will 
ascertain the steps of their literary progress. What- 
ever science he professes he may illustrate in a series 
of discourses, composed in the leisure of his closet, pro- 
nounced on puhlic occasions, and finally delivered to 
the press. 

The College of St. Mary Magdalen was founded in 
the fifteenth century hy Wainfleet, Bishop of Winches- 
ter; and now consists of a president, forty fellows, and 
a numher of inferior students. It is esteemed (me of 
the largest and most wealthy of our academical corpo- 
rations, which may he compared to the Benedictine 
ahheys of Catholic countries ; and I have loosely heard 
that the estates helonging to Magdalen College, which 
are leased hy those indulgent landlords at small quit- 
rents and occasional fines, might he raised, in the 
hands of private avarice, to an annual revenue of 
nearly thirty thousand pounds. Our colleges are sup- 
posed to he schools of science, as well as of education ; 
nor is it unreasonahle to expect that a hody of literary 
men, devoted to a life of celihacy, exempt from the 



EDWARD GIBBON. 83 

care of their own subsistence, and amply provided Nvith 
books, should devote their leisure to the prosecution 
of study, and that some effects of their studies should 
be manifested to the world. The shelves of their 
library ^roan under the weight of the Benedictine 
fidios, of the editions of the fathers, and the collections 
of the Middle Ages w^hich have issued from the single 
abbey of St. Germain de Prez at Paris. A composi- 
tion of genius must be the offspring of one mind ; but 
such works of industry as may be divided among many 
hands, and must be continued during many years, are 
the peculiar province of a laborious comnmnity. If I 
inquire into the manufactures of the monks of Magda- 
len, if I extend the inquiry to the other colleges of Ox- 
ford and Cambridge, a silent blush or a scornful frown 
will be the only reply. The fellows or monks of my 
time were decent easy men, who supinely enjoyed the 
gifts of the founder : their days were filled by a series 
of uniform employments, — the chapel and the hall, the 
coffee-house and the common room, till they retired, 
weary and well satisfied, to a long slumber. From 
the toil of reading or thinking or writing they had 
absolved their consciences ; and the first shoots of 
learning and ingenuity withered on the ground, with- 
out yielding any fruits to the owners or the public. As 
a gentleman-commoner, I was admitted to the society 
of the fellows, and fondly expected that some ques- 
tions of literature would be the amusing and instruc- 
tive topics of their discourse. Their conversation stag- 
nated in a round of college business, Tory politics, 
personal anecdotes, and private scandal ; their dull 
and deep potations excused the brisk intemperance 
of youth ; and their constitutional toasts were not 
expressive of the most lively loyalty for the house of 



84 MEMOIRS OF 

Hanover. A general election was now approaching : 
the great Oxfordshire contest already blazed with all 
the malevolence of party zeal. Magdalen College was 
devotedly attached to the old interest ; and the names 
of Wenman and Dashwood were more frequently pro- 
nounced than those of Cicero and Chrysostom. The 
example of the senior fellows could not inspire the 
undergraduates with a liberal spirit or studious emula- 
tion ; and I cannot describe, as I never knew, the dis- 
cipline of college. Some duties may possibly have 
been imposed on the poor scholars whose ambition 
aspired to the peaceful honors of a fellowship (ascrihi 
quietis ordinihus .... Deorum) ; but no indepen- 
dent members were Admitted below the rank of a gen- 
tleman-commoner, and our velvet cap was the cap of 
liberty. A tradition prevailed that some of our prede- 
cessors had spoken Latin declamations in the hall ; 
but of this ancient custom no vestige remained 5 the 
obvious methods of public exercises and examinations 
were totally unknown ; and I have never heard that 
either the president or the society interfered in the pri- 
vate economy of the tutors and their pupils. 

The silence of the Oxford professors, which deprives 
the youth of public instruction, is imperfectly sup- 
plied by the tutors, as they are styled, of the several 
colleges. Instead of confining themselves to a single 
science, which had satisfied the ambition of Burman 
or Bernoulli, they teach, or promise to teach, either 
history or mathematics or ancient literature or moral 
philosophy; and as it is possible that they may be 
defective in all, it is highly probable that of some they 
will be ignorant. They are paid indeed by private 
contributions, but their appointment depends on the 
head of the house : their diligence is voluntary, and 



EDWARD GIBBON. 85 

will coDsequently be languid^ while the pupils them- 
selves^ or their parents, are not indulged in the liberty 
of choice or change. The first tutor into whose hands 
I was resigned appears to have been one of the best 
of the tribe : Dr. Waldegrave was a learned and pious 
man, of a mild disposition, strict morals, and abstemi- 
ous life,- who seldom mingled in the politics or the jol- 
lity of the college. But his knowledge of the world 
was confined to the university; his learning was of 
the last rather than of the present age ; his temper 
was indolent; his faculties, which were not of the first 
rate, had been relaxed by the climate ; and he was 
satisfied, like his fellows, with the slight and super- 
ficial discharge of an important trust. As soon as my 
tutor had sounded the insufficiency of his disciple in 
school-learning, he proposed that we should read, 
every morning from ten to eleven, the comedies of 
Terence. The sum of my improvement in the Univer- 
sity of Oxford is confined to three or four Latin plays ; 
and even the study of an elegant classic, which might 
have been illustrated by a comparison of ancient and 
modern theatres, was reduced to a dry and literal in- 
terpretation of the authors text. During the first 
weeks I constantly attended these lessons in my tutor^s 
room ; but as they appeared equally devoid of profit 
and pleasure, I was once tempted to try the experi- 
ment of a formal apology. The apology was accepted 
with a smile. I repeated the oifence with less cere- 
mony ; the excuse was admitted with the same indul- 
gence : the slightest motive of laziness or indisposition, 
the most trifling avocation at home or abroad, was 
allowed as a worthy impediment; nor did my tutor 
appear conscious of my absence or neglect. Had the 
hour of lecture been constantly filled, a single hour was 



86 MEMOIRS OF 

a small portion of my academic leisure. No plan of 
study was recommended for my use } no exercises were 
prescribed for his inspection ; and at the most precious 
season of youth whole days and weeks were suffered 
to elapse without labor or amusement, without advice 
or account. I should have listened to the voice of rea- 
son and of my tutor; his mild bt^havior had gained 
my confidence. I preferred his society to that of the 
younger students; and in our evening walks to the 
top of Haddington Hill we freely conversed ,on a vari- 
ety of subjects. Since the days of Pocock and Hyde, 
Oriental learning has always been the pride of Oxford, 
and I once expressed an inclination to study Arabic. 
His prudence discouraged this childish fancy ; but he 
neglected the fair occasion of directing the ardor of a 
curious mind. During my absence in the summer 
vacation Dr. Waldegrave accepted a college living at 
Washington in Sussex, and on my return I no longer 
found him at Oxford. From that time I have lost 
sight of my first tutor ; but at the end of thirty years 
(1781) he was still alive, and the practice of exercise 
and temperance had entitled him to a healthy old age. 
The long recess between the Trinity and Michael- 
mas terms empties the colleges of Oxford, as well as 
the courts of Westminster. I spent, at my father's 
house at Buriton in Hampshire, the two months of 
August and September. It is whimsical enough, that 
as soon as I left Magdalen College, my taste for books 
began to revive ; but it was the same blind and boy- 
ish taste for the pursuit of exotic history. Unprovided 
with original learning, unformed in the habits of think- 
ing, unskilled in the arts of composition, I resolved — 
to write a book. The title of this first essay, ^^ The 
Age of Sesostris/' was perhaps suggested by Voltaire's 



EDWARD GIBBON". 87 

^^ Age of Louis XIY./^ which was new and popular 5 
but my sole object was to investigate the probable 
date of the life and reign of the conqueror of Asia. I 
was then enamored of Sir John Marsham's '^ Canon 
Chronicus"; an elaborate work, of whose merits and 
defects I was not yet qualified to judge. According 
to this specious though narrow plan, I settled my 
hero about the time of Solomon, in the tenth century 
before the Christian era. It was therefore incumbent 
on me, unless I would adopt Sir Isaac Newton's 
shorter chronology, to remove a formidable objection ; 
and my solution, for a youth of fifteen, is not devoid of 
ingenuity. In his version of the sacred books, Mane- 
tho the high-priest has identified Sethosis, or Sesostris, 
with the elder brother of Danaus, who landed in 
Greece, according to the Parian Marble, fifteen hundred 
and ten years before Christ. But in my supposition 
the high-priest is guilty of a voluntary error ; flattery 
is the prolific parent of falsehood. Manetho's '^History 
of Egypt " is dedicated to Ptolemy Philadelphus, who 
derived a fabulous or illegitimate pedigree from the 
Macedonian kings of the race of Hercules. Danaus 
is the ancestor of Hercules ; and after the failure of 
the elder branch, his descendants, the Ptolemies, are 
tlie sole representatives of the royal family, and may 
claim by inheritance the kingdom which they hold by 
conquest. Such were my juvenile discoveries ; at a 
riper age, I no longer presume to connect the Greek, 
the Jewish, and the Egyptian antiquities, which are 
lost in a distant cloud. Nor is this the only instance 
in which the belief and knowledge of the child are 
superseded by the more rational ignorance of the 
man. During my stay at Buriton my infant labor 
was diligently prosecuted, without much interruption 



88 MEMOIRS OF 

from company or country diversions ; and I already 
heard the music of public applause. The discovery 
of my own weakness was the first symptom of taste. 
On my return to Oxford, ^^The Age of Sesostris" was 
wisely relinquished ; but the imperfect sheets remained 
twenty years at the bottom of a drawer, till, in a gen- 
eral clearance of papers (November, 1772), they were 
committed to the flames. 

After the departure of Dr. Waldegrave, I was trans- 
ferred, with his other pupils, to his academical heir, 
whose literary character did not command the respect 

of the college. Dr. well remembered that he 

had a salary to receive, and only forgot that he had a 
duty to perform. Instead of guiding the studies, and 
watching over the behavior of his disciple, 1 was 
never summoned to attend even the ceremony of a 
lecture ; and, excepting one voluntary visit to his 
rooms, during the eight months of his titular office, 
the tutor and pupil lived in the same college as ' 
strangers to each other. The want of experience, of 
advice, and of occupation soon betrayed me into 
some improprieties of conduct, ill-chosen company, 
late hours, and inconsiderate expense. My growing 
debts might be secret ; but my frequent absence was 
visible and scandalous, and a tour to Bath, a visit into 
Buckinghamshire, and four excursions to London, in 
the same winter, w^ere costly and dangerous frolics. 
They were, indeed, without a meaning, as without an 
excuse. The irksomeness of a cloistered life repeat- 
edly tempted me to wander ; but my chief pleasure 
was that of travelling; and I was too young and 
bashful to enjoy, like a manly Oxonian in town, the 
pleasures of London. In all these excursions I eloped 
from Oxford ; I returned to college : in a few days I 



EDWARD GIBBON. 89 

eloped again, as if I had been an independent stranger 
in a hired lodging, without once hearing the voice of 
admonition^ without once feeling the hand of control. 
Yet my time was lost, my expenses were multiplied, 
my behavior abroad was unknown ; folly as well as 
vice should have awakened the attention of my supe- 
riors, and my tender years would have justified a more 
than ordinary degree of restraint and discipline. 

Tt might at least be expected that an ecclesiastical 
school should inculcate the orthodox principles of re- 
ligion. But our venerable mother had contrived to 
unite the opposite extremes of bigotry and indifference : 
an heretic or unbeliever was a monster in her eyes ; 
but she was always or often or sometimes remiss in 
the spiritual education of her own children. According 
to the statutes of the university, every student, before 
he is matriculated, must subscribe his assent to the 
thirty-nine articles of the Church of England, w^hich 
are signed by more than read, and read by more than 
believe them. My insufficient age excused me, how- 
ever, from the immediate performance of this legal 
ceremony ; and the vice-cliancellor directed me to 
return as soon as I should have accomplished my 
fifteenth year ; recommending me, in the mean while, 
to the instruction of my college. My college forgot 
to instruct J I forgot to return, and was myself for- 
gotten by the first magistrate of the university. With- 
out a single lecture, either public or private, either 
Christian or Protestant, without any academical sub- 
scription, without any episcopal confirmation, I was left 
by the dim light of my catechism to grope my way to 
the chapel and communion-table, where I was admitted 
without a question how far, or by what means, I 
might be qualified to receive the sacrament. Such 



90 MEMOIRS OF 

almost, incredible neglect was productive of the worst 
mischiefs. From my childhood I had been fond of 
religious disputation : my poor aunt has been often 
puzzled by the mysteries which she strove to believe ; 
nor had the elastic spring been totally broken by 
the weight of the atmosphere of Oxford. The blind 
activity of idleness urged me to advance without armor 
into the dangerous mazes of controversy; and at the 
age of sixteen I bewildered myself into the errors of 
the Church of Rome. 

The progress of my conversion may tend to illustrate, 
at least, the history of my own mind. It was not long 
since Dr. Middleton^s ^'Free Inquiry" had sounded an 
alarm in the theological world : much ink and much gall 
had been spilt in the defence of the primitive miracles ; 
and the two dullest of their champions were crowned 
with academic honors by the University of Oxford. The 
name of Middleton was unpopular ; and his proscrip- 
tion very naturally led me to peruse his writings and 
those of his antagonists. His bold criticism, which 
approaches the precipice of infidelity, produced on my 
mind a singular effect ; and had I persevered in the 
communion of Rome, I should now apply to my own 
fortune the prediction of the Sibyl, 

*' Via prima salutis, 
Quod minime reris, Graia, pandetur ab urbe." 

The elegance of style and freedom of argument were 
repelled by a shield of prejudice. I still revered the 
character, or rather the names, of the saints and fathers 
whom Dr. Middleton exposes; nor could he destroy my 
implicit belief that the gift of miraculous powers was 
continued in the church during the first four or ^ye 
centuries of Christianity. But I was unable to resist 



EDWARD GIBBON. 91 

the weight of historical evidence that within the same 
period most of the leading doctrines of Popery were 
already introduced in theory and practice ; nor was my 
conclusion ahsurd^ — that miracles are the test of truth, 
and that the church must be orthodox and pure, which 
was so often approved by the visible interposition of 
the Deity. The marvellous tales which are so boldly 
attested by the Basils and Chrysostoms, the Augustins 
and Jeromes, compelled me to embrace the superior 
merits of celibacy, the institution of the monastic life, 
the use of the sign of the cross, of holy oil, and even 
of images, the invocation of saints, the worship of rel- 
ics, the rudiments of purgatory in prayers for the dead, 
and the tremendous mystery of the sacrifice of the body 
and blood of Christ, which insensibly swelled into the 
prodigy of transubstantiation. In these dispositions, 
and already more than half a convert, I formed an un- 
lucky intimacy with a young gentleman of our college. 
With a character less resolute, Mr. Molesworth had 
imbibed the same religious opinions } and some Popish 
books, I know not through what channel, were con- 
veyed into his possession. I read, I applauded, I be- 
lieved ; the English translation of two famous works 
of Bossuet, Bishop of Meaux, the ^^ Exposition of the 
Catholic Doctrine," and the ^^ History of the Protestant 
Variations," achieved my conversion; and I surely fell 
by a noble hand.* I have since examined the originals 
with a more discerning eye, and shall not hesitate to 
pronounce that Bossuet is indeed a master of all the 
weapons of controversy. In the Exposition, a specious 
apology, the orator assumes, with consummate art, the 

* Mr. Gibl)on never talked with me on the subject of liis conversion to 
Popery but once; and then lie imputed his change to the works of Par- 
sons the Jesuit, who lived in the reign of Elizabeth, and who, he said, had 
urged all the hest arguments in favor of the Roman Catholic religion. S. 



92 MEMOIRS OF 

tone of candor and simplicity ; and the ten-horned mon- 
sttr is transformed^ at his magic touch, into the milk- 
white hind who must be loved as soon as she is seen. 
In the History, a bold and well-aimed attack, he dis- 
plays, with a happy mixture of narrative and argument, 
the faults and follies, the changes and contradictions, 
of our first reformers ; w^hose variations (as he dexter- 
ously contends) are the mark of historical error, while 
the perpetual unity of the Catholic Church is the sign 
and test of infallible truth. To my present feelings 
it seems incredible that I should ever believe that I 
believed in transubstantiation. But my conqueror op- 
pressed me with the sacramental words, '^ Hoc est cor- 
pus meum," and dashed against each other the figurative 
half-meanings of the Protestant sects : every objection 
was resolved into omnipotence ; and after repeating at 
St. Mary's the Athanasian creed, I humbly acquiesced 
in the mystery of the real presence. 
" To take up half on trust, and half to try, 
Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry. 
Both knave and fool the merchant we may call, 
To pay great sums, and to compound the small : 
For who would break with Heaven, and would not break 
for all?" 

No sooner had I settled my new religion, than I resolved 
to profess myself a Catholic. Youth is sincere and im- 
petuous ; and a momentary glow of enthusiasm had 
raised me above all temporal considerations.* 

By the keen Protestants, who would gladly retaliate 
the example of persecution, a clamor is raised of the 
increase of Popery : and they are always loud to declaim 
against the toleration of priests and Jesuits, who per- 

* He described the letter to his father, announcing his conversion, as 
written with all the pomp, the dignitj^ and self-satisfaction of a martyr. S. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 93 

vert so many of his majesty^s subjects from their re- 
ligion and allegiance. On the present occasion the fiill 
of one or more of her sons directed this clamor against 
the university 5 and it was confidently affirmed that 
Popish missionaries were suffered, under various dis- 
guises, to introduce themselves into the colleges of 
Oxford. But justice obliges me to declare that, as far 
as relates to myself, this assertion is false ; and that I 
never conversed with a priest, or even with a Papist, 
till my resolution from books was absolutely fixed. In 
my last excursion to London 1 addressed myself to Mr. 
Lewis, a Roman Catholic bookseller in Russell Street, 
Covent Garden, who recommended me to a priest, of 
whose name and order I am at present ignorant.* In 
our first interview he soon discovered that persuasion 
was needless. After sounding the motives and merits 
of my conversion, he consented to admit me into the 
pale of the church ; and at his feet, on the 8th of 
Jane, 1753, I solemnly, though privately, abjured the 
errors of heresy. The seduction of an English youth 
of family and fortune was an act of as much danger as 
glory ; but he bravely overlooked the danger, of which 
I was not then sufficiently informed. '' Where a person 
is reconciled to the see of Rome, or procures others to 
be reconciled, the ofl'ence,'^ says Blackstone, ^^ amounts 
to high treason. ^^ And if the humanity of the age would 
prevent the execution of this sanguinary statute, there 
were other laws of a less odious cast, which condemned 
the priest to perpetual imprisonment, and transferred 
the proselyte's estate to his nearest relation. An elab- 
orate controversial epistle, approved by my director, and 

* His name was Baker, a Jesuit, and one of the chaplains of the Sar- 
dinian ambassador. Mr. Gil)bon's conversion made some noise; and Mr. 
Lewis, the Roman Catliolic bookseller of Russell Street, Covent Garden, 
-was summoned l)efore the privy council, and interrogated on the subject. 
This was communicated by Mr. Lewis's son. 1814. 



94 MEMOIKS OF 

addressed to my father, announced and justified the step 
which I had taken. My father was neither a bigot nor 
a philosopher ; hut his affection deplored the loss of an 
only son^ and his good sense was astonished at my 
strange departure from the religion of my country. In 
the first sally of passion he divulged a secret which 
prudence might have suppressed, and the gates of Mag- 
dalen College were forever shut against my return. 
Many years afterwards, when the name of Gibbon was 
become as notorious as that of Middleton, it was indus- 
triously whispered at Oxford, that the historian had 
formerly ^^ turned Papist " ; my character stood exposed 
to the reproach of inconstancy; and this invidious 
topic would have been handled without mercy by my 
opponents, could they have separated my cause from 
that of the university. For my own part, I am proud 
of an honest sacrifice of interest to conscience. I can 
never blush, if my tender mind was entangled in the 
sophistry that seduced the acute and manly under- 
standings of Chilhngworth and Bayle, who afterwards 
emerged from superstition to scepticism. 

The academical resentment which I may possibly 
have provoked will prudently spare this plain narra- 
tive of my studies, or rather of my idleness, and of 
the unfortunate event which shortened the term of 
my residence at Oxford. But it may be suggested 
that my father was unlucky in the choice of a society 
and the chance of a tutor. It will perhaps be asserted 
that in the lapse of forty years many improvements 
have taken place in the college and in the university. 
I am not unwilling to believe that some tutors might 
have been found more active than Dr. Waldegrave, and 

less contemptible than Dr. . At a more recent 

period many students have been attracted by the merit 



EDWARD GIBBON. 95 

and reputation of Sir William Scott, then a tutor in 
University College, and now conspicuous in the pro- 
fession of the civil law : my personal acquaintance 
with that gentleman has inspired me with a just 
esteem for his abilities and knowledge; and I am 
assured that his lectures on history would compose, 
w^ere they given to the public, a most valuable treatise. 
Under the auspices of the late deans a more regular 
discipline has been introduced, as I am told, at Christ 
Church ; a course of classical and philosophical studies 
is proposed, and even pursued, in that numerous semi- 
nary J learning has been made a duty, a pleasure, and 
even a fashicm; and several young gentlemen do 
honor to the college in which they have been edu- 
cated. According to the will of the donor, the profit 
of the second part of Lord Clarendon's History has 
been applied to the establishment of a riding-school, 
that the polite exercises might be taught, I know not 
wnth what success, in the university. The Vinerian 
professorship is of far more serious importance; the 
laws of his country are the first science of an English- 
man of rank and fortune, who is called to be a 
magistrate, and may hope to be a legislator. This 
judicious institution was coldly entertained by the 
graver doctors, who complained (I have heard the 
complaint) that it would take the young people from 
their books : but Mr. Viner's benefoction is not un- 
profitable, since it has at least produced the excellent 
commentaries of Sir William Blackstone. 

After carrying me to Putney, to the house of his 
friend Mr. Mallet,* by whose philosophy I was rather 

* The author of a Life of Bacon, which has heen rated above its value; 
of some forgotteu poems and plays ; and of the pathetic ballad of Wil- 
liam and Margaret. His tenets were deistical ; perhaps a stronger term 
might have been used. S. 



96 MEMOIRS OF 

scandalized than reclaimed, it was necessary for my 
father to form a new plan of education, and to devise 
some method which, if possible, might effect the cure 
of my spiritual malady. After much debate it was 
determined, from the advice and personal experience 
of Mr. Eliot (now Lord Eliot), to fix me, during some 
years, at Lausanne in Switzerland. Mr. Frey, a Swiss 
gentleman of Basil, undertook the conduct of the 
journey : we left London the 19th of June, crossed 
the sea from Dover to Calais, travelled post through 
several provinces of France, by the direct road of St. 
Quentin, Kheims, Langres, and Besan^on, and arrived, 
the 30th of June, at Lausanne, where I was immedi- 
ately settled under the roof and tuition of Mr. Pa vil- 
li ard, a Calvinist minister. 

The first marks of my father^s displeasure rather 
astonished than afflicted me : when he threatened to 
banish and disown and disinherit a rebellious son, I 
cherished a secret hope that he would not be able or 
willing to effect his menaces ; and the pride of con- 
science encouraged me to sustain the honorable and 
important part which I was now acting. My spirits 
were raised and kept alive by the rapid motion of my 
journey, the new and various scenes of the Continent, 
and the civility of Mr. Frey, a man of sense, who was 
not ignorant of books or the world. But after he had 
resigned me into Pavilliard's hands, and I was fixed in 
my new habitation, I had leisure to contemplate the 
strange and melancholy prospect before me. My first 
complaint arose from my ignorance of the language. 
In my childhood I had once studied the French gram- 
mar, and I could imperfectly understand the easy prose 
of a familiar subject. But when I was thus suddenly 
cast on a foreign land, I found myself deprived of the 



EDWARD GIBBON. 97 

use of speech and of hearing, and, during some weeks, 
incapable not only of enjoying the pleasures of conver- 
sation, but even of asking or answering a question in 
the common intercourse of life. To a home-bred Eng- 
lishman every object, every custom, was offensive ; but 
the native of any country might have been disgusted 
with the general aspect of his lodging and entertain- 
ment. I had now exchanged my elegant apartment 
in Magdalen College for a narrow, gloomy street, the 
most unfrequented of an unhandsome town, for an old 
inconvenient house, and for a small chamber, ill-con- 
trived and ill -furnished, which, on the approach of 
winter, instead of a companionable fire, must be 
warmed by the dull, invisible heat of a stove. From 
a man I was again degraded to the dependence of a 
school-boy. Mr. Pavilliard managed my expenses, 
which had been reduced to a diminutive state. I re- 
ceived a small monthly allowance for my pocket- 
money; and, helpless and awkward as I have ever 
been, I no longer enjoyed the indispensable comfort 
of a servant. My condition seemed as destitute of 
hope as it was devoid of pleasure : I was separated 
for an indefinite, which appeared an infinite, term from 
my native country ; and I had lost all connection with 
my Catholic friends. I have since reflected with sur- 
prise that, as the Romish clergy of every part of 
Europe maintain a close correspondence with each 
other, they never attempted, by letters or messages, 
to rescue me from the hands of the heretics, or at 
least to confirm my zeal and constancy in the pro- 
fession of the faith. Such was my first introduction 
to Lausanne ; a place where I spent nearly five years 
with pleasure and profit, which I afterwards revisited 
without compulsion, and which I have finally selected 



98 MEMOIRS OF 

as the most grateful retreat for the decline of my 
life. 

But it is the peculiar felicity of youth that the most 
unpleasing objects and events seldom make a deep or 
lasting impression ; it forgets the past, enjoys the pres- 
ent, and anticipates the future. At the fiexihle age of 
sixteen I soon learned to endure, and gradually to adopt, 
the new forms of arbitrary manners : the real hardships 
of my situation were alienated by time. Had I been 
sent abroad in a more splendid style, such as the for- 
tune aiid bounty of my father might have supplied, I 
might have returned home with the same stock of 
language and science which our countrymen usually 
import from the Continent. An exile and a prisoner 
as I was, their example betrayed me into some irregu- 
larities of wine, of play, and of idle excursions'; but I 
soon felt the impossibility of associating with them on 
equal terms ', and after the departure of my first ac- 
quaintances, I held a cold and civil correspondence with 
their successors. This seclusion from English society 
was attended with the most solid benefits. In the 
Pays de Vaud the French language is used with less 
imperfection than in most of the distant provinces of 
France : in Pavilliard^s family necessity compelled me 
to listen and to speak ; and if I was at first disheartened 
by the apparent slowness, in a few months I was as- 
tonished by the rapidity, of my progress. My pronun- 
ciation was formed by the constant repetition of the 
same sounds ; the variety of words and idioms, the 
rules of grammar and distinctions of genders, were im- 
pressed in my memory ; ease and freedom were obtained 
by practice, correctness and elegance by labor; and 
before I was recalled home, French, in which I spon- 
taneously thought, was more familiar than English to 



EDWARD GIBBON". 99 

my ear, my tongue, and my pen. The first effect of 
this opening knowledge was the revival of my love of 
reading, which had been chilled at Oxford ; and I soon 
turned over, without much choice, almost all the French 
books in my tutor's library. Even these amusements 
were productive of real advantage : my taste and judg- 
ment were now somewhat riper. I was introduced to 
a new mode of style and literature ; by the comparison 
of manners and opinions, my views were enlarged, my 
prejudices were corrected ; and a copious voluntary 
abstract of the ^' Histoire de Tfiglise et de TEmpire,'' 
by Le Suer, may be placed in a middle line between my 
childish and my manly studies. As soon as I was able 
to converse with the natives, I began to feel some sat- 
isfaction in their company ; my awkward timidity was 
polished and emboldened, and I frequented, for the first 
time, assemblies' of men and women. The acquaint- 
ance of the Pavilliards prepared me by degrees for more 
elegant society. I was received with kindness and in- 
dulgence in the best families of Lausanne ; and it was 
in one of these that I formed an intimate and lasting 
connection with Mr. Deyverdun, a young man of an 
amiable temper and excellent understanding. In the 
arts of fencing and dancing small indeed was my pro- 
ficiency ; and some months were idly wasted in the 
riding-school. My unfitness to bodily exercise recon- 
ciled me to a sedentary life ; and the horse, the favorite 
of my countrymen, never contributed to the pleasures 
of my youth. 

My obligations to the lessons of Mr. Pavilliard, 
gratitude will not suffer me to forget ; he was en- 
dowed with a clear head and a warm heart ; his innate 
benevolence had assuaged the spirit of the church ; he 
was rational; because he was moderate ; in the course 



100 MEMOIRS OF 

of his studies he had acquired a just though superficial 
knowledge of most branches of literature ; by long 
practice he was skilled in the arts of teaching ; and he 
labored with assiduous patience to know the character, 
gain the affection, and open the mind of his English 
pupil.* As soon as we began to understand each 

* Extract of a Letter from Mr. Pavilliard to Edward Gibbon, Esq. 

Lausanne, 31st October, 1753. 

Str : — Since my letter of the 15th August, I received on the 18th of 
the same month the letter which you did me tlie honor to write, of tlie 
date of the 24th July. Having read it with attention, allow me to repre- 
sent to you the reflections which have occurred to me. 

You desire that your son should go out little, but be retained within 
doors, and obliged to occupy himself in his studies. You are his parent, 
sir, and consequently have a right to prescribe the manner in which he 
should be treated. Without doubt you select this course because you 
think that it will succeed better in removing the prejudices to which he 
has resigned himself. I beg you, however, to consider that your son is 
of a serious character, that he is fond of reflection, and that, being so 
much in his chamber employed in reading, he will follow his own ideas 
exclusively, to which he will be the more attached, as there will be no 
one to contradict him ; moreover, regarding the obligation as a species of 
restraint imposed upon him, he will be less inclined to listen to what I 
shall say to him, and will regard all my conversation as coming from a 
man who entertains notions which he disapproves, and who is paid for 
endeavoring to make him of the same opinion. 

I believe, sir, that it would be more advisable for him to unbend a 
little, and seek additional amusement, in order to dissipate a poriion of the 
too great gravity of his character. By seeing good company he would 
learn what is deemed correct in regard to a variety of subjects ; he would 
be accustomed to contradiction and to the necessity of occasionally yield- 
ing, and would thereby be led to examine, with serious care and witli less 
preoccupation, the principles which he adopts. Often finding them con- 
demned by persons whom he will see evince a solicitude to be correct, he 
will not regard them as infallible ; and convinced that they who differ 
from him do not dislike him for his opinions, he will listen to them wiih 
more confidence. All that I have just said has been suggested by my 
observations on his character, and my consideration of what you have 
done me the honor to say in your letter. Having perceived that he was 
attached to the party of the Pretender, which he openly acknowledged in 
the sequel, I have combated his opinions, without seeming to regard 
them as entertained by him, and without exhibiting any intention to an- 
noy him. He has frequently replied ; but I have finally so repelled his 



EDWARD GIBBON. 101 

other, he gently led me, from a blind and undistin- 
guished love of reading, into the path of instruction. I 
consented with pleasure that a portion of the morning 
hours should be consecrated to a plan of modern history 
and geography, and to the critical perusal of the French 
and Latin classics ; and at each step 1 felt myself in- 
vigorated by the habits of application and method. 
His prudence repressed and dissembled some youthful 
sallies ; and as soon as I was confirmed in the habits 
of industry and temperance, he gave the reins into my 
own hands. His favorable report of my behavior and 
})rogress gradually obtained some latitude of action and 
expense ; and he wished to alleviate the hardships of 
my lodging and entertainment. The principles of phi- 
losophy were associated with the examples of taste ; 
and by a singular chance, the book, as well as the man, 
which contributed the most effectually to my education, 
has a stronger claim on my gratitude than on my ad- 
miration. M. de Crousaz, the adversary of Bayle and 
Pope, is not distinguished by lively fancy or profound 
reflection } and even in his own country, at the end of 
a few years, his name and writings are almost obUt- 
orated. But his philosophy had been formed in the 
school of Locke, his divinity in that of Limborch and 
Le Clerc ; in a long and laborious life, several genera- 
tions of pupils were taught to think and even to write ; 
his lessons rescued the Academy of Lausanne from Cal- 
vinistic prejudice ; and he had the rare merit of diffus- 
ing a more liberal spirit among the clergy and people 

arguments, that he speaks no more in this strain, and expresses himself 
very differently in relation to th3 king from what he did formerly. I am 
not sure, however, tliat his 0[)inions are altogether chan^red, as he speaks 
little, and I have never wished him to think that I had any design to 
dictate to or overrule him. 

Sir, your very humble and ohedient servant, 

PAVILLIARD, Pastor. 



102 MEMOIRS OF 

of the Pays de Yaud. His system of logic, which in 
the last edition has swelled to six tedious and prolix 
volumes, may be praised as a clear and methodical 
abridgment of the art of reasoning, from our simple 
ideas to the most complex operations of the human 
understanding. This system I studied, and meditated, 
and abstracted, till I obtained the free command of an 
universal instrument, which I soon presumed to ex- 
ercise on my Catholic opinions. Pavilliard was not 
unmindful that his first task, his most important duty, 
was to reclaim me from the errors of Popery. The 
intermixture of sects has rendered the Swiss clergy 
acute and learned on the topics of controversy } and I 
have some of his letters in which he celebrates the dex- 
terity of his attack, and my gradual concessions after a 
firm and well-managed defence.* I was willing, and 
I am now willing, to allow him a handsome share of 
the honor of my conversion ; yet I must observe that 
it was principally effected by my private reflections ; 
and I still remember my solitary transport at the dis- 
\ covery of a philosophical argument against the doctrine 
\ of transubstantiation, — that the text of scripture which 
seems to inculcate the real presence is attested only by 
a single sense, — our sight ; while the real presence 
itself is disproved by three of our senses, — the sight, 
the touch, and the taste. The various articles of the 
- Romish creed disappeared like a dream ; and after a 
full conviction, on Christmas Day, 1754, I received the 
sacrament in the church of Lausanne. It was here 

* Mr. Pavilliard has described to me the astonishment with -which he 
gazed on Mr. Gibhon standing before him ; a thin little figure, with a 
large head, disputing and urging, with the greatest ability, all the best 
arguments tliat had ever been used in favor of Popery. Mr. Gibbon 
many years ago became very fat and corpulent, but he had uncommonly 
small bones, and was very slightly made. S. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 103 

that I suspended my religious inquiries, acquiescing 
with implicit belief in the tenets and mysteries which 
are adopted by the general consent of Catholics and 
Protestants.* 

* From Mr. Pavilliakd to Edwaed Gibbon, Esq. 

June 26, 1754. 

Sir, — I hope that you will pardon my long silence, in consideration of 
the news which I have to communicate. If I have delayed, it has heen 
n^'ither through forgetfulness nor negligence; but 1 have thought, M^eek 
alter week, that I should have the power to announce that your son had 
entirely given up the false notions which he had embraced; but he has 
disputed the ground foot to foot; and I have not found him a man of 
levity, who passes with rapidity from one opinion to another. After 
having overthrown his arguments upon a point, so tliat he has had noth- 
ing to reply, he has confessed it without equivocation, and told me that 
he had nothing further to say. On these occasions I have not deemed it 
expedient to push matters to extremities, and to extort from him any- 
thing which his heart might secretly disavow ; but have given him time 
to reflect, and placed all my books at his disposal. When he allowed that 
he had studied the subject as fully as possible, I returned to the charge, 
and ultimately I have caused the truth to prevail. 

I had been led to believe that if I could demonstrate the principal 
errors of the Church of Rome, I could make him perceive that tlie minor 
ones ought to follow, as not of a nature to exist after the overthrow of 
fundamentals ; i)ut, as I have already observed, I deceived myself, as he 
thought himself called upon to examine every article thoroughly. By 
God's assistance I have not, however, lost my labor; and at present, if 
even he retains some remains of his pernicious errors, I can venture to 
say that he is no longer a member of the Church of Rome. Here then 
we are at present. 

I have overthrown the infallibility of the church ; I have proved that 
St. Peter was never chief of the apostles ; that if he had been so, the 
Pope is not his successor; that it is doubtful if St. Peter was ever at 
Rome ; but, supposing he had been there, he was never its bishop ; that 
transubstantiatiun is a human invention of little antiquity in the church ; 
that the worship of the eucharist and the withholding of tlic cup are 
contrary to the Word of God ; that there are saints, but we know not 
who they are and therefore cannot pray to them; that the respect and 
worship paid to relics are condemiiable ; that there is no purgatory, and 
that the doctrine of indulgences is false; that Lent, and the fasts of 
Friday and Saturday, are now ridiculous in the manner prescril)ed l)y 
the Church of Rome; and that the inipatations of that church, wh^n it 



104 MEMOIRS OF 

Such, from my arrival at Lausanne, during the first 
eighteen or twenty months (July, 1753, to March, 1755) 
were my useful studies, the foundation of all my future 
improvements. But every man who rises above the 
common level has received two educations : the first 

accuses us of varying our opinions, tind following reformers of scanda- 
lous conduct and manners, are entirely ungrounded. 

You will be aware. Sir, that these points imply a lengthy discussion^ 
and ihat Mr. Gibbon required time to reflect upon my arguments, and to 
meditate replies. I have often inquired if my proofs and reasoning 
appeared to him convincing; and he has also answered yes in such a 
manner, that I can venture to assert, as I have said to your son himself^ 
that he is no longer a Roman Catholic. Having obtained the victory 
thus far, I flatter myself, by God's help, to be equally successful over 
what remains. Thus I rely, that in a little time the work will be accom- 
plished; I must not neglect to add, that although I have found Mr. 
Gibbon very firm in his opinions, I have also found him reasonable ; he 
has yielded to conviction when it reached him, and is not what is termed 
a caviller. In relation to the fast of Friday and Saturday, a long time 
after Iliad written to you that he had never signified he would obserxe 
it, I perceived one Friday, towards the commencement of the month of 
March, that he ate no meat. I particularly addressed him to learn the 
reason, fearing that it was owing to indisposiiion; he replied that he 
refrained intentionally, as he held himself obliged to conform to tlie prac- 
tice of a church of which he was a member. We then conversed upon 
the subject, when he assured me that he regarded it merely as a good 
practice, and one that he ought to follow, but not as holy in itself or of 
divine institution. I did not think that I ought to insist further upon 
this point at the time, or feel it necessary to call upon him to act against 
liis own sense of propriety. 1 have since assailed this observance, which 
is certainly one of tlie least importance, and the h ast founded ; it has 
nevertheless occupied much time to undeceive and to convince him 
that it is wrong to subject himself to the practice of a church which he 
no longer deems infallible; that if even this observance had some utility 
when instituted, it had none in itself, since it contributed nothing to 
purity of manners, and consequently there was nothing either in the 
institution of the practice, or in the practice itself, which authorized a 
submission to it ; that at present it was a mere affair of money-getting, 
since with money dispensations to eat meat, etc., might always be ob- 
tained. In this manner I have restored him to Christian liberty for 
some weeks past, but not without considerable trouble. 1 have re- 
quested him to write to you an account of his present sentiments, and 
the state of his health, and believe that he has done so. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 105 

from his teacher ; the second, more personal and im- 
portant, from himself. He will not, like the fanatics 
of the last age, define the moment of grace ; hut he 
cannot forget the era of his life in which his mind has 
expanded to its proper form and dimensions. My 
worthy tutor had the good sense and modesty to discern 
how far he could he useful ; as soon as he felt that I 
advanced beyond his speed and measure, he wisely left 
me to my genius ; and the hours of lesson were soon 
lost in the voluntary labor of the whole morning, and 
sometimes of the whole day. The desire of prolonging 
my time gradually confirmed the salutary habit of early 
rising, to which I have always adhered, with some re- 
gard to seasons and situations ; but it is happy for my 
eyes and my health, that my temperate ardor has never 
been seduced to trespass on the hours of the night. 
During the last three years of my residence at Lau- 
sanne, I may assume the merit of serious and solid ap- 
plication ; but I am tempted to distinguish the last 
eight months of the year 1755 as the period of the 
most extraordinary diligence and rapid progress.* In 
my French and Latin translations I adopted an ex- 

* Journal, December, 1755. — In finishing this year, I must remark 
how favorable it was to my studies. In the space of eight months from 
tlie beginning of April, I learned the principles of drawing, made myself 
complete master of the French and Latin languages, with which I was 
very superficially acquainted before, and wrote and translated a great 
deal in both ; read Cicero's Epistles ad Familiares, his Brutus, all his 
Ora ions, his Dialogues de Aniici.ia and de Senectute, Terence twice, and 
Pliny's Epistles. In French, Giannone's History of Naples, and I'Abbe 
Bannier's Mythologv, and M. de Boehat's Memoires sur la Suisse, and 
M'rote a very ample relation of my tour. I likewise began to study 
Greek, and went thi-ongh the grammar, I began to make very large 
collections of what I read. But wliat I esteem most of all, from the 
perusal and meditation of De Crousaz's Logic, I not only understood tlie 
principles of that science, but formed my mind to a habit of thinking and 
reasoning I had no idea of before. 



106 ^ MEMOIRS OF 

cellent method^ which, for my own success, I would 
recommend to the imitation of students. I chose some 
chissic writer, such as Cicero and Vertot, the most ap- 
proved for purity and elegance of style. I translated, 
for instance, an epistle of Cicero into French; and 
after throwing it aside till the words and phrases were 
ohliterated from my memory, I retranslated my French 
into such Latin as I could find, and then compared 
each sentence of my imperfect version with the ease, 
the grace, the propriety, of the Homan orator. A sim- 
ilar experiment was made on several pages of the 
revolutions of Vertot; I turned them into Latin, re- 
turned them, after a sufficient interval, into my own 
French, and again scrutinized the resemblance or dis- 
similitude of the copy and the original. By degrees I 
was less ashamed, by degrees I was more satisfied with 
myself ; and I persevered in the practice of these double 
translations, which filled several books, till I had ac- 
quired the knowledge of both idioms, and the command 
at least of a correct style. This useful exercise of 
writing was accompanied and succeeded by the more 
pleasing occupation of reading the best authors. The 
perusal of the Eoman classics was at once my exercise 
and reward. Dr. Middleton^s History, which I then 
appreciated above its true value, naturally directed me 
to the writings of Cicero. The most perfect editions 
— that of Olivet, which may adorn the shelves of the 
rich ; that of Ernes ti, which should lie on the table of 
the learned — were not within my reach. For the fa- 
miliar epistles I used the text and English commentary 
of Bishop Ross ; but my general edition was that of 
Yerburgius, published at Amsterdam in two large 
volumes in folio, with an indifi'erent -choice of various 
notes. I read, with application and pleasure, all the 



EDWARD GIBBON. 107 

epistles, all the orations, and the most important trea- 
tises of rhetoric and philosophy; and as I read, I 
applauded the observation of Qaintilian, that every 
student may judge of liis own proficiency by the satis- 
faction which he receives from the Koman orator. I 
tasted the beauties of language, I breathed the spirit 
of freedom, and I imbibed from his precepts and ex- 
amples the public and private sense of a man. Cicero 
in Latin, and Xenophon in Greek, are indeed the two 
ancients whom I would first propose to a liberal scholar; 
not only for the merit of their style and sentiments, but 
for the admirable lessons which may be applied almost 
to every situation of public and private life. Cicero's 
Epistles may in particular afford the models of every 
form of correspondence, from the careless effusions of 
tenderness and friendship to the well-guarded declara- 
tion of discreet and dignified resentment. After finish- 
ing this great author, a library of eloquence and reason, 
I formed a more extensive plan of reviewing the Latin 
classics,* under the four divisicms of, 1, historians; 2, 
poets; 3, orators; and 4, philosophers; in a chrono- 
logical series, from the days of Plautus and Sallust to 
the decline of the language and empire of Rome : and 
this plan, in the last twenty- seven months of my resi- 
dence at Lausanne (January, 1756, to April, 1758), I 
nearly accomplished. Nor was this review, however 
rapid, either hasty or superficial. I indulged myself in 
a second and even a third perusal of Terence, Virgil, 
Horace, Tacitus, etc., and studied to imbibe the sense 
and spirit most congenial to my own. I never suftered 

* Journal, January, 1756. — I determined to read over tlie Latin au- 
thors in order ; jjnd read this year Virgil, Salhist, Livy, Velleius Pater- 
culus, Valerius Maximus, Tacitus, Suetonius, Qiiintus Curtius, Justin, 
Florus, Plautus, Terence, and Lucretius. I also read and meditated 
Locke upon the Understanding. 



108 MEMOIRS OF 

a difficult or corrupt passage to escape till T had viewed 
it in every light of which it was susceptible ; though 
often disappointed, I always consulted the most learned 
or ingenious commentators, Torrentius and Dacier on 
Horace, Catrou and Servius on Virgil, Lipsius on Taci- 
tus, Meziriac cm Ovid, etc. ; and in the ardor of my in- 
quhies I embraced a large circle of historical and critical 
erudition. My abstracts of each book were made in 
the French language : my observations often branched 
into particular essays ; and I can still read without 
contempt a dissertation of eight folio pages on eight 
lines (287-294) of the fourth Georgic of Virgil. Mr. 
Deyverdun, my friend, whose name will be frequently 
repeated, had joined with equal zeal, though not with 
equal perseverance, in the same undertaking. To him 
every thought, every composition, was instantly com- 
municated ; with him I enjoyed the benefits of a free 
conversation on the topics of our common studies. 

But it is scarcely possible for a mind endowed with 
any active curiosity to be long conversant with the 
Latin classics without aspiring to know the Greek 
originals whom they celebrate as their masters, and 
of whom they so warmly recommend the study and 
imitation. 

" Vos exemplaria Grseca 
Nocturna versate manu, versate diuriia." 

It was now that I regretted the early years which 
had been wasted in sickness or idleness or mere idle 
reading; that I condemned the perverse method of our 
schoolmasters, who, by first teaching the mother lan- 
guage, might descend with so much ease and perspi- 
cuity to the origin and etymology of a derivative idiom. 
In the nineteenth year of my age I determined to sup- 
ply this defect; and the lessons of Pavilliard again 



EDWARD GIBBON. 109 

contributed to smooth the entrance of the way, the 
Greek alphabet, the grammar, and the pronunciation 
according to the French accent. . At my earnest request 
we presumed to open the Iliad ; and I had the pleasure 
of beholding, though darkly and through a glass, the 
true image of Homer, wliom I had long since admired 
in an English dress. After my tutor had left me to 
myself, I W(n'ked my way through about half the Iliad, 
and afterwards interpreted alone a large portion of 
Xenophon and Herodotus. But my ardor, destitute 
of aid and emulation, was gradually cooled ] and, from 
the barren task of searching words in a lexicon, I 
withdrew to the free and familiar conversation of Virgil 
and Tacitus. Yet in my residence at Lausanne I had 
laid a solid foundation, which enabled me, in a more 
propitious season, to prosecute the study of Grecian 
literature. 

From a blind idea of the usefulness of such abstract 
science, my father had been desirous, and even press- 
ing, that I should devote some time to the mathemat- 
ics ; nor could I refuse to comply with so reascmable 
a wish. During two winters I attended the private 
lectures of Monsieur de Traytorrens, who explained the 
elements of algebra and geometry as far as the conic 
sections of the Marquis de THopital, and appeared sat- 
isfied with my diligence and improvement. But as my 
childish propensity for numbers and calculations was 
totally extinct, I was content to receive the passive im- 
pression of my professor's lectures, without any active 
exercise of my own powers. As soon as I understood 
the principles, I relinquished forever the pursuit of the 
mathematics ; nor can I lament that I desisted before 
my mind was hardened by the habit of rigid demon- 
stration, so destructive of the finer feelincrs of moral 



110 MEMOIES OF 

evidence, which must, however, determine the actions 
and opinions of our lives. I listened with more pleas- 
ure to the proposal of studying the law of nature and 
nations, which was taught in the Academy of Lausanne 
by Mr. Vicat, a professor of some learning and reputa- 
tion. But instead of attending his public or private 
course, I preferred in my closet the lessons of his mas- 
ters, and my own reason. Without being disgusted by 
Grotius or Puffendorf, I studied in their writings the 
duties of a man, the rights of a citizen, the theory of 
justice^ (it is, alas ! a theory), and the laws of peace 
and war, which have had some influence on the prac- 
tice of modern Europe. My fatigues were alleviated 
by the good sense of their commentator Barbeyrac. 
Lockers Treatise of Government instructed me in the 
knowledge of Whig principles, which are rather founded 
in reason than experience ; bat my delight was in 
the frequent perusal of Montesquieu, whose energy of 
style and boldness of hypothesis were powerful to 
awaken and stimulate the genius of the age. The logic 
of De Crousaz had prepared me to engage with his 
master Locke, and his antagonist Bayle ; of whom the 
former may be used as a bridle, and the latter as a 
spur, to the curiosity of a young philosopher. Accord- 
ing to the nature of their respective works, the 
schools of argument and objection, I carefully went 
through the Essay on Human Understanding, and 
occasionally consulted the most interesting articles of 
the Philosophic Dictionary. In the infancy of my 
reason I turned over, as an idle amusement, the most 
serious and important treatise; in its maturity, the 
most trifling performance could exercise my taste or 
judgment ; and more than once I have been led by a 
novel into a deep and instructive train of thinking. 



EDWARD GIBBON. Ill 

But T cannot forbear to mention three particular "books, 
since they may have remotely contributed to form the 
historian of the Eoman Empire. 1. From the Provin- 
cial Letters of Pascal, which almost every year I have 
perused with new pleasure, I learned to manage the 
weapon of grave and temperate irony, even on subjects 
of ecclesiastical solemnity. 2. The Life of Julian, 
by the Abbe de la Bleterie, first introduced me to the 
man and the times ; and I should be glad to recover 
my first essay on the truth of the miracle which stopped 
the rebuilding of the Temple of Jerusalem. 3. In 
Giannone^s Civil History of Naples, I observed with a 
critical eye the progress and abuse of sacerdotal power, 
and the revolutions of Italy in the darker ages. This 
various reading, which I now conducted with discretion, 
was digested, according to the precept and model of 
Mr. Locke, into a large commonplace-book ; a prac- 
tice, however, which I do not strenuously recommend. 
The action of the pen will doubtless imprint an idea 
on the mind as well as on the paper : but I much ques- 
tion whether the benefits of this laborious method are 
adequate to the waste of time ; and I must agree with 
Dr. Johnson (Idler, No. 74), that ^^ what is twice read is 
commonly better remembered than what is transcribed.^' 
During two years, if I forget some boyish excursions 
of a day or a week, I was fixed at Lausanne; but at 
the end of the third summer my father consented that 
I should make the tour of Switzerland with Pavilliard : 
and our short absence of one month (September 21 — 
October 20, 1755) was a reward and relaxation of 
my assiduous studies.* The fashion of climbing the 

* From Edward Gibbon to Mrs. Porten. 

" . . . . Now for myself. As my father has given me leave to make 
a journey round Switzerland, we set out to-morrow. Buy a map of 



112 MEMOIRS OF 

mountains and reviewing the glaciers bad not yet been 
introduced by foreign travellers who seek the sublime 
beauties of nature. But the political face of the coun- 
try is not less diversified by the forms and spirit of so 
many various republics, from the jealous government 
of the few to the licentious freedom of the many. I 
contemplated with pleasure the new prospects of men 
and manners ; though my conversation with the na- 
tives would have been more free and instructive, had I 
possessed the German as well as the French language. 

Switzerland — it will cost you but a sliilling — and follow me. I go by 
Iverdun, Neufcbatel, Bienne or Biel, Soleure or Solothurn, Bale or Basil, 
Bade, Zurich, Lucerne, and Bern. The voyage will be of about four 
weeks ; so that I hope to find a letter from you waiting for me. As my 
father had given me leave to learn what I had a mind, I have learned to 
ride, and learn actually to dance and diaw. Besides that, I often give 
ten or twelve hours a day to my studies. I find a great many agreeable 
people here; see them sometimes, and can say upon the whole, without 
vanity, that though I am the Englishman here who spends the least 
money, I am he who is the most generally liked. I told you that my 
father had promised to send me into France and Italy. I have thanked 
him for it ; but if he would follow my plan, he won't do it yet awhile. I 
never liked young travellers ; they go too raw to make any great re- 
marks, and they lose a time which is (in my opiniorj) the most precious 
part of a man's life. My scheme would be, to spend this winter at Lau- 
sanne : for though it is a very good place to acquire the air of good com- 
pany and the French tongue, we have no good professors. To spend (I 
say) the winter at Lausanne ; go into England to see my friends for a 
couple of months ; and after that, finish my studies either at Cambridge 
(for after what has passed one cannot think of Oxford) or at an univer- 
sity in Holland. If you liked the scheme, could you not propose it to 
my father by Metcalf, or somebody who has a certain credit over him ? 
I forgot to ask you whether, in case my father writes to tell me of his 
marriage, would you advise me to compliment my mother-in-law ? I 
think so. My health is so very regular that I have nothing to say 
about it. 

I have been the vihole day writing you this letter ; the preparations 
for our voyage gave me a thousand interruptions. Besides that, I was 
obliged to write in English. This last reason will seem a paradox, but I 
assure you the French is much more familiar to me. I am, etc. 

E. GIBBON. 

Lausanne, Sept. 20, 1755. 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 113 

We passed through most of the principal towns in 
Switzerland: Neufchatel, Bicnne, Soleure, Aran, Ba- 
den, Zurich, Basil, and Bern. In every place wo 
visited the churches, arsenals, libraries, and all the 
most eminent persons ; and after my return, I digested 
my notes in fourteen or fifteen sheets of a French jour- 
nal, which I despatched to my father, as a proof that 
my time and his money had not been misspent. Had 
I found this journal among his papers, I might be 
tempted to select some passages ; but I will not tran- 
scribe the printed accounts, and it may be sufficient to 
notice a remarkable spot which left a deep and lasting 
impression on my memory. From Zurich we pro- 
ceeded to the Benedictine abbey of Einsiedlen, more 
commonly styled Our Lady of the Hermits. I was 
astonished by the profuse ostentation of riches in the 
poorest corner of Europe ; amidst a savage scene of 
woods and mountains a palace appears to have been 
erected by magic 5 and it was erected by the potent 
magic of religion. A crowd of palmers and votaries 
was prostrate before the altar. The title and worship 
of the Mother of God provoked my indignation; and 
the lively naked image of superstition suggested to me, 
as in the same place it had done to Zuinglius, the 
most pressing argument for the reformation of the 
Church. About two years after this tonr, I passed at 
Geneva a useful and agreeable month; but this excur- 
sion, and some short visits in the Pays de Vaud, did 
not materially interrupt my studious and sedentary life 
at Lausanne. 

My thirst of improvement, and the languid state 
of science at Lausanne, soon prompted me to solicit a 
literary coiTespondence with several men of learning, 
whom I had not an opportunity of personally consult- 



114 MEMOIRS OF 

ing. 1. In the perusal of Livy (xxx. 44) I had been 
stopped by a sentence in a speech of Hannibal, which 
cannot be reconciled by any torture with his character 
or argument. The commentators dissemble, or con- 
fess their perplexity. It occurred to me tliat the change 
of a single letter, by substituting otio instead of odio^ 
might restore a clear and consistent sense ) but I wished 
to weigh my emendation in scales less partial than my 
own. I addressed myself to M. Crevier^ the successor 
of Rollin, and a professor in the University of Paris, 
who had published a large and valuable edition of Livy. 
His answer was speedy and polite ; he praised my inge- 
nuity, and adopted my conjecture. 2. I maintained a 
Latin correspondence, at lirst anonymous, and after- 
wards in my own name, 'with Professor Breitinger of 
Zurich, the learned editor of a Septuagint Bible. In 
our frequent letters we discussed many questions of 
antiquity, many passages of the Latin classics. I pro- 
posed my interpretations and amendments. His cen- 
sures, for he did not spare my boldness of conjecture, 
were sharp and strong ) and I was encouraged by the 
consciousness of my strength when I could stand in 
free debate agaiust a critic of such eminence and eru- 
dition. 3. I conTsponded on similar topics with the 
celebrated Professor Matthew Gesner, of the University 
of Gottingen ) and he accepted, as courteously as the 
two former, the invitation of an unknown youth. But 
his abilities might possibly be decayed ; his elaborate 
letters were feeble and prolix ; and when I asked his 
proper direction, the vain old man covered half a sheet 
of paper with the foolish enumeration of his titles and 
offices. 4. These professors of Paris, Zurich, and Got- 
tingen were strangers, w^honi I presumed to address on 
the credit of their name ; but Mr. Allamand, minister 



EDWARD GIBBON. 115 

at Bex, was my personal friend, with whom I main- 
tained a more free and interesting correspondence. He 
was a master of language, of science, and above all 
of dispute ; and his acute and flexible logic could sup- 
port with equal address, and perhaps with equal indiffer- 
ence, the adverse sides of every possible question. His 
spirit was active, but his pen had been indolent. Mr. 
Allamand had exposed himself to much scandal and 
reproach by an anonymous letter (1745) to the Prot- 
estants of France : in which he labors to persuade them 
that public worship is the exclusive right and duty of 
the State, and that their numerous assemblies of dis- 
senters and rebels were not authorized by the law or the 
gospel. His style is animated, his arguments specious ; 
and if the Papi*st may seem to lurk under the mask of 
a Protestant, the philosopher is concealed under the 
disguise of a Papist. After some trials in France and 
Holland, which were defeated by his fortune or his 
character, a genius, that might have enlightened or 
deluded the world, was buried in a country living, un- 
known to fame, and discontented with mankind. Est 
sacrificulus in pago, et rusticos decipit. As often as 
private or ecclesiastical business called him to Lau- 
sanne, I enjoyed the pleasure and benefit of his conver- 
sation, and we were nmtually flattered by our attention 
to each other. Our correspondence, in his absence, 
chiefly turned on Locke's metaphysics, — which he 
attacked, and I defended, — the origin of ideas, the prin- 
ciples of evidence, and the doctrine of liberty ; 

" And found no end, in wandering mazes lost." 

By fencing with so skilful a master I acquired some 
dexterity in the use of my philosophic w^eapons ] but 
I was still the slave of education and prejudice. He 



116 MEMOIRS OF 

had some measures to keep ; and I much suspect that 
he never showed me the true colors of his secret scep- 
ticism. 

Before I was recalled from Switzerland, I had the 
satisfaction of seeing the most extraordinary man of 
the age ; a poet, an historian , a philosopher, who has 
tilled thirty quartos of prose and verse with his various 
productions, often excellent, and always entertaining. 
Need I add the name of Voltaire ? After forfeiting, hy 
his own misconduct, the friendship of the first of kings, 
he retired, at the age of sixty, with a plentiful fortune, 
to a free and heautifal country, and resided two winters 
(1757 and 1758) in the town or neighborhood of Lau- 
sanne. My desire of beholding Voltaire, whom I then 
rated above his real magnitude, was easily gratified. 
He received me with civility as an English youth, but 
I cannot boast of any peculiar notice or distinction : 
Virgilium vidi tantum. 

The ode which he composed on his first arrival on 
the banks of the Leman lake, ^^ maison d'Aristippe ! 
jardin d^Epicure ! " etc., had been imparted as a se- 
cret to the gentleman by whom I was introduced. He 
allowed me to read it twice ; I knew it by heart ; and 
as my discretion was Hot equal to my memory, the 
author was soon displeased by the circulation of a 
copy. In writing this trivial anecdote, I wished to 
observe whether my memory was impaired; and I 
have the comfort of finding that every line of the poem 
is still engraved in fresh and indelible characters. The 
highest gratification which I derived from Voltaire^s 
residence at Lausanne was the uncommon circum- 
stance of hearing a great poet declaim his own produc- 
tions on the stage. He had formed a company of 
gentlemen and ladies, some of whom were not desti- 



EDWAED GIBBON. 117 

tute of talents. A decent theatre was framed at Mon- 
repos^ a country-house at the end of a suburb : dresses 
and scenes were provided at the expense of the actors ; 
and the author directed the rehearsals with the zeal 
and attention of paternal love. In two successive 
winters his tragedies of Zaire, Alzire, Zulime, and his 
sentimental comedy of the Enfant Prodigue, were 
played at the theatre of Monrepos. Voltaire repre- 
sented the characters best adapted to his years, — 
Lusignan, Alvarez, Benassar, Euphemon. His decla- 
mation was fashioned to the pomp and cadence of the 
old stage ; and he expressed the enthusiasm of poetry, 
rather than the feelings of nature. My ardor, which 
soon became conspicuous, seldom failed of procuring 
me a ticket. The habits of pleasure fortified my taste 
for the French theatre, and that taste has perhaps 
abated my idolatry for the gigantic genius of Shake- 
speare, which is inculcated from our infancy as the 
first duty of an Englishman. The wit and philosophy 
of Voltaire, his table and theatre, refined in a visible 
degree the manners of Lausanne; and, however addicted 
to study, I enjoyed my share of the amusements of soci- 
ety. After the representation of Monrepos 1 sometimes 
supped with the actors. I was now familiar in some, 
and acquainted in many houses ; and my evenings were 
generally devoted to cards and ccmversation, either in 
private parties or numerous assemblies. 

I hesitate, from the apprehension of ridicule, when I 
approach the delicate subject of my early love. By 
this word I do not mean the polite attention, the gal- 
lantry, without hope or design, which has originated 
in the spirit of chivalry and is interwoven with the 
texture of French manners. I understand by this 
passion the union of desire, friendship, and tenderness, 



118 MEMOIRS OF 

wliicli is inflamed by a single female, which prefers her 
to the rest of her sex^ and which seeks her possession 
as the supreme or the sole happiness of our being. I 
need not blush at recollecting the object of my choice ; 
and though my love was disappointed of success, I am 
rather proud that I was once capable of feeling such a 
pure and exalted sentiment. The personal attractions 
of Mademoiselle Susan Curchod were embellished by 
the virtues and talents of the mind. Her fortune was 
humble, but her family was respectable. Her mother, 
a native of France, had preferred her religion to her 
country. The profession of her father did not extin- 
guish the moderation and philosophy of his temper, and 
he lived content, with a small salary and laborious 
duty, in the obscure lot of minister of Crassy, in the 
mountains that separate the Pays de Vaud from the 
county of Burgundy. In the solitude of a sequestered 
village he bestowed a liberal and even learned educa- 
tion on his only daughter. She surpassed his hopes 
by her proficiency in the sciences and languages ; and 
in her short visits to some relations at Lausanne, the 
wit, the beauty and erudition, of Mademoiselle Cur- 
chod were the theme of universal applause. The re- 
port of such a prodigy awakened my curiosity ; I saw 
and loved. I found her learned without pedantry, 
lively in conversation, pure in sentiment, and elegant 
in manners ; and the first sudden emotion was fortified 
by the habits and knowledge of a more familiar ac- 
quaintance. She permitted me to make her two or 
three visits at her father's house. I passed some happy 
days there, in the mountains of Burgundy, and her 
parents honorably encouraged the connection. In a 
calm retirement the gay vanity of youth no longer fiut- 
tered in her bosom ; she listened to the voice of truth 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 119 

and passion ; and I might presume to hope that I had 
made some impression on a virtuous heart. At Crassy 
and Lausanne I indulged my dream of felicity : but 
on my return to England^ I soon discovered that my 
father would not hear of this strange alliance^ and that 
without his consent I was myself destitute and helpless. 
After a painful struggle I yielded to my fate : I sighed 
as a lover, I obeyed as a son } * my wound was insensi- 
bly healed by thne, absence, and the habits of a new 
life. My cure was accelerated by a faithful report of 
the tranquillity and cheerfulness of the lady herself; 
and my love subsided in friendship and esteem. The 
minister of Crassy soon afterwards died ; his stipend 
died with him } his daughter retired to Geneva, where, 
by teaching young ladies, she earned a hard subsistence 
for herself and her mother; but in her lowest distress she 
maintained a spotless reputation, and a dignified be- 
havior. A rich banker of Paris, a citizen of Geneva, 
had the good fortune and good sense to discover and 
possess this inestimable treasure; and in the capital of 
taste and luxury she resisted the temptations of wealth, 
as she had sustained the hardships of indigence. The 
genius of her husband has exalted him k) the most 
conspicuous station in Europe. In every change of 
prosperity and disgrace he has reclined on the bosom 
of a faithful frieud ; and Mademoiselle Curchod is now 
the wife of M. Necker, the minister, and perhaps the 
legislator, of the French monarchy. 

Whatsoever have been the fruits of my education, 
they must be ascribed to the fortunate banishment 

* Se3 (Euvres de Rousseau, Tom. XXXIII. pp. 88, 89, octavo edition. 
As an author, I shall not appeal from the judj^nient or taste or caprice 
of Jean Jacques : but tliat extraordinary man, whom I admire and pity, 
should have been less precipitate in condemning the moral character and 
conduct of a stranj'er. 



120 MEMOIRS OF 

wliich placed me at Lausanne. I have sometimes 
applied to my own fate the verses of Pindar, which 
remind an Olympic champion that his victory was the 
consequence of his exile; and that at home, like a 
domestic fow4, his days might have rolled away in- 
active or inglorious. 

ijTOL Kai red k€V, 

'Evdo/xdxcLS cIt dXeKTup, 

2tvyy6v(i} irap earia 

*AK\€r)s TLfxd Kare(pvWop6r}a€ iropOjv ' 

Ei IX f\ ardcns dvTLdveLpa 

K^wcrtas djJLepae Trdras. * 

Olymp. XTI. 

If my childish revolt against the religion of my coun- 
try had not stripped me in time of my academic gown, 
the five important years so liberally improved in the 
studies and conversation of Lausanne would have 
been steeped in port and prejudice among the monks 
of Oxford. Had the fatigue of idleness compelled me 
to read, the path of learning would not have been 
enlightened by a ray of philosophic freedom. I should 
have grown to manhood ignorant of the life and lan- 
guage of Europe, and my knowledge of the world 
would have been confined to an English cloister. But 
my religious error fixed me at Lausanne in a state 
of banishment and disgrace. The rigid course of dis- 
cipline and abstinence to which I was condemned, 
invigorated the constitution of my mind and body ; 

* Thus, like the crested bird of Mars at home 
Engag'd in fuul domestic jars, 
And wasted with intestine wars. 
Inglorious hadst thou spent thy vig'rous bloom 
Had not sedition's civil broils 
Expell'd tliee from thy native Crete, 
And driv'n thee with more glorious toils 
Til' Olympic crown in Pisa's plain to meet. 

West's Tind. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 121 

poverty and pride estranged me from my countrymen. 
One mischief, however, and in their eyes a serious and 
irreparable mischief, was derived from the success of 
my Swiss education, — I had ceased to be an English- 
man. At the flexible period of youth, from the age of 
sixteen to twenty-one, my opinions, habits, and senti- 
ments were cast in a foreign mould; the faint and 
distant remembrance of England was almost obliter- 
ated ; my native language was grown less familiar ; 
and I should have cheerfully accepted the ofl'er of a 
moderate independence on the terms of perpetual exile. 
By the good sense and temper of Pavilliard my yoke 
was insensibly lightened j he left me master of my 
time and actions ; but he could neither change my 
situation nor increase my allowance ; and with the 
progress of my years and reason I impatiently sighed 
for the moment of my deliverance. At length, in the 
spring of the year 1753, my father signified his per- 
mission and his pleasure that 1 should immediately 
return home. We were then in the midst of a war ; 
the resentment of the French at our taking their ships 
without a declaration had rendered that polite nation 
somewhat peevish and difficult. They denied a pas- 
sage to English travellers, and the road through Ger- 
many was circuitous, toilsome, and perhaps in the 
neighborhood of the armies exposed to some danger. 
In this perplexity two Swiss officers of my acquaint- 
ance in the Dutch service, who were returning to their 
garrisons, oftered to conduct me through France as one 
of their companions; nor did we sufficiently reflect 
that my borrowed name and regimentals might have 
been considered, in case of a discovery, in a very seri- 
ous light. I took my leave of Lausanne on the 11th 
of April, 1758, with a mixture of joy and regret, in the 



122 MEMOIRS OF 

iirm resolution of revisiting, as a man, the persons and 
places wliich liad been so dear to my youth. We 
travelled slowly, but pleasantly, in a hired coach, over 
the hills of Tranche- Compte and the fertile province 
of Lorraine, and passed without accident or inquiry 
through several fortified towns of the French frontier : 
from thence we entered the wild Ardennes of the Aus- 
trian duchy of Luxembourg ; and after crossing the 
Meuse at Liege, we traversed the heaths of Brabant, 
and reached, on the fifteenth day, our Dutch garrison 
of Bois le Due. In our passage through Nancy my 
eye was gratified by the aspect of a regular and beau- 
tiful city, the work of Stanislaus, who, after the storms 
of Polish royalty, reposed in the love and gratitude of 
his new subjects of Lorraine. In our halt at Maes- 
tricht I visited M. de Beaufort, a learned critic, who 
M^as known to me by his specious arguments against 
the five first centuries of the Koman History. After 
dropping my regimental companions, I stepped aside 
to visit Eotterdam and the Hague. I wished to have 
observed a country, the monument of freedom and 
industry ; but my days were numbered, and a longer 
delay w^ould have been ungraceful. I hastened to 
embark at the Brill, landed the next day at Harwich, 
and proceeded to London, where my father awaited 
my arrival. The whole term of my first absence from 
England was four years ten months and fifteen days. 

In the prayers of the church our personal concerns 
are judiciously reduced to the threefold distinction of 
mind, body, and estate. The sentiments of the mind 
excite and exercise our social sympathy. The review 
of my moral and literary character is the most inter- 
esting to myself and to the public j and I may ex- 
patiate without reproach on my private studies, since 



EDWARD GIBBON. 123 

they have produced the public writings which can 
alone entitle me to the esteem and friendship of my 
readers. The experience of the world inculcates a 
discreet reserve on the subject of our person and es- 
tate, and we soon learn that a free disclosure of our 
riches or poverty would provoke the malice of envy, 
or encourage the insolence of contempt. 

The only person in England whom I was impatient 
to see was my Aunt Porten, the affectionate guardian 
of my tender years. I hastened to her house in Col- 
lege Street, Westminster; and the evening was spent 
in the effusions of joy and confidence. It was not 
without some awe and apprehension that I approached 
the presence of my fiither. My infancy, to speak the 
truth, had been neglected at home ; the severity of his 
look and language at our last parting still dwelt on 
my memory } nor could I form any notion of his char- 
acter or my probable reception. They were both more 
agreeable than I could expect. The domestic disci- 
pline of our ancestors has been relaxed by the philoso- 
phy and softness of the age ; and if my father remem- 
bered that he had trembled before a stern parent, it 
was only to adopt with his own son an opposite mode 
of behavior. He received me as a man and a friend ; 
all constraint was banished at our first interview, and 
we ever afterwards continued on the same terms of 
easy and equal politeness. He applauded the success 
of my education; every word and action was ex- 
pressive of the most cordial affection ; and our lives 
would have passed without a cloud, if his economy had 
been equal to his fortune, or if his fortune had been 
equal to his desires. During my absence he had mar- 
ried his second wife. Miss Dorothea Patton, who was in- 
troduced to me with the most unfavorable prejudice. I 



124 MEMOIRS OF 

considered his second marriage as an act of displeasure, 
and I was disposed to hate the rival of my mother. 
But the injustice was in my own fancy, and the im- 
aginary monster was an amiable and deserving wo- 
man. I could not be mistaken in the iirst view of her 
understanding, her knowledge, and the elegant spirit 
of her conversation ; her polite welcome, and her assid- 
uous care to study and gratify my v/ishes, announced 
at least that the surface would be smooth ; and my 
suspicions of art and falsehood were gradually dis- 
pelled by the full discovery of her warm and exquisite 
sensibility. After some reserve on my side, our minds 
associated in confidence and friendship ; and as Mrs. 
Gibbon had neither children nor the hopes of children, 
we more easily adopted the tender names and genuine 
characters of mother and of son. By the indulgence 
of these parents, I was left at liberty to consult my 
taste or reason in the choice of place^ of company, and 
of amusements ; and my excursions were bounded only 
by the limits of the island^ and the measure of my 
income. Some faint efforts were made to procure me 
the employment of secretary to a foreign embassy ; 
and I listened to a scheme which would again have 
transported me to the Continent. Mrs. Gibbon, with 
seeming wisdom, exhorted me to take chambers in the 
Temple, and devote my leisure to the study of the 
law. I cannot repent of having neglected her advice. 
Few men, without the spur of necessity, have resolu- 
tion to force their way through the thorns and thick- 
ets of that gloomy labyrinth. Nature had not endowed 
me with the bold and ready eloquence which makes 
itself heard amidst the tumult of the bar; and I should 
probably have been diverted from the labors of litera- 
ture, without acquiring the fame or fortune of a sue- 



EDWARD GIBBON. ' 125 

cessfal pleader. I had no need to call to my aid 
the regular duties of a profession ; every day, every 
hour, was agreeahly filled ; nor have I known, like so 
many of my countrymen, the tediousness of an idle 
life. 

Of the two years (May, 1758, to May, 1760) between 
my return to England and the embodying of the 
Hampshire militia, I passed about nine months in 
London, and the remainder in the country. The me- 
tropolis affords many amusements, which are open to 
all. It is itself an astonishing and perpetual spectacle 
to the curious eye ', and each taste, each sense, may 
be gratified by the variety of objects which will occur 
in the long circuit of a morning walk. I assiduously 
frequented the theatres at a very propitious era of the 
stage, when a constellation of excellent actors, both in 
tragedy and comedy, was eclipsed by the meridian 
brightness of Garrick in the maturity of his judgment 
and vigor of his performance. The pleasures of a 
town-life are within the reach of every man who is 
regardless of his health, his money, and his company. 
By the contagion of example I was sometimes se- 
duced ; but the better habits which I had formed at 
Lausanne induced me to seek a more elegant and ra- 
tional society ; and if my search was less easy and 
successful than I might have hoped, I shall at present 
impute the failure to the disadvantages of my situa- 
tion and character. Had the rank and fortune of my 
parents given them an annual establishment in Lon- 
don, their own house would have introduced me to a 
numerous and polite circle of acquaintance. But my 
father's taste had always preferred the highest and the 
lowest company, for which he was equally qualified ; 
and after a twelve years' retirement; he was no longer 



126 MEMOIRS OF 

in the memory of the great with whom he had asso- 
ciated. I found myself a stranger in the midst of a 
vast and unknown city } and at my entrance into life 
I was reduced to some dull family parties, and some 
scattered connections, which were not such as I should 
have chosen for myself. The most useful friends of 
my father were the Mallets; they received me with 
civility and kindness at first on his account, and after- 
wards on my own 5 and (if I may use Lord Chester- 
field's words) I was soon domesticated in their house. 
Mr. Mallet, a name among the English poets, is praised 
by an unforgiving enemy for the ease and elegance of 
his conversation ; and his wife was not destitute of wit 
or learning. By his assistance I was introduced to 
Lady Hervey, the mother of the present Earl of Bristol. 
Her age and infirmities confined her at home ; her 
dinners w^ere select ; in the evening her house was 
open to the best company of both sexes and all nations ; 
nor was I displeased at her preference and affectation 
of the manners, the language, and the literature of 
France. But my progress in the English world was 
in general left to my. own efforts, and those efforts 
w^ere languid and slow. I had not been endowed by 
art or nature with those happy gifts of confidence and 
address, w^hich unlock every door and every bosom; 
nor would it be reasonable to complain of the just con- 
sequences of my sickly childhood, foreign education, 
and reserved temper. While coaches were rattling 
through Bond Street, I have passed many a solitary 
evening in my lodging with my books. My studies 
were interrupted by a sigh which I breathed towards 
Lausanne ; and on the approach of spring I withdrew 
without reluctance from the noisy and extensive scene 
of crowds without company, and dissipation without 



EDWARD GIBBON. 127 

pleasure. In each of the twenty-five years of my ac- 
quaintance with London (1758-1783) the prospect 
gradually brightened ; and this unfavorable picture 
most properly belongs to the first period after my 
return from Switzerland. 

My father^s residence in Hampshire, where I have 
passed many light and some heavy hours, was at Bu- 
riton, near Petersfield, one mile from the Portsmouth 
road, and at the easy distance of fifty-eight miles from 
London.* An old mansion, in a state of decay, had 
been converted into the fashion and convenience of a 
modern house ; and if strangers had nothing to see, 
the inhabitants had little to desire. The spot was not 
happily chosen, at the end of the village^ and the bot- 
tom of the hill : but the aspect of the adjacent grounds 
was various and cheerful; the downs commanded a 
noble prospect, and the long hanging woods in sight 
of the house could not perhaps have been improved by 
art or expense. My father kept in his own hands the 
whole of the estate, and even rented some additional 
land ; and whatsoever might be the balance of profit 
and loss, the farm supplied him w^ith amusement and 
plenty. The produce maintained a number of men 
and horses, which were multiplied by the intermixture 
of domestic and rural servants; and in the intervals 
of labor the favorite team, a handsome set of bays or 
grays, was harnessed to the coach. The economy of 
the house was regulated by the taste and prudence i 
of Mrs. Gibbon. She prided herself in the elegance of 
her occasional dinners ; and from the uncleanly ava- \ 
rice of Madame Pavilliard I was suddenly transported 1 
to the daily neatness and luxury of an English table, j 

* The estate and manor of Beriton, otlierwise Buriton, were consider- 
able, and were sold a few years ago to Lord Stawell. S. 



128 MEMOIES OF 

Our immediate neighborhood was rare and rustic ; 
but from the verge of our hills, as far as Chichester 
and Goodwood, the western district of Sussex was in- 
terspersed with noble seats and hospitable families, 
with whom we cultivated a friendly, and might have 
enjoyed a very frequent, intercourse. As my stay at 
Buriton was always voluntary, I was received and dis- 
missed with smiles ; but the comforts of my retire- 
ment did not depend on the ordinary pleasures of the 
country. My father could never inspire me with his 
love and knowledge of farming. I never handled a 
gun, I seldom mounted a horse ; and my philosophic 
walks were soon terminated by a shady bench, where 
I was long detained by the sedentary amusement of 
reading or meditation. At home I occupied a pleas- 
ant and spacious apartment ; the library on the same 
floor was soon considered as my peculiar domain } and 
I might say with truth, that I was never less alone 
than when by myself. My sole complaint, which I 
piously suppressed, arose from the kind restraint im- 
posed on the freedom of my time. By the habit of 
early rising I always secured a sacred portion of the 
day, and many scattered moments were stolen and 
employed by my studious industry. But the family 
hours of breakfast, of dinner, of tea, and of supper 
were regular and long : after breakfast Mrs. Gibbon 
expected my company in her dressing-room ; after tea 
my father claimed my conversation, and the perusal of 
the newspapers; and in the midst of an interesting 
work I was often called down to receive the visit of 
some idle neighbors. Their dinners and visits re- 
quired, in due season, a similar return ; and I dreaded 
the period of the full moon, which was usually reserved 
for our more distant excursions. I could not refuse 



EDWARD GIBBON". 129 

attending my father, in the summer of 1759, to the 
races at Stockbridge, Reading, and Odiam, where he 
had entered a horse for the hunters^ plate ; and I was 
not displeased with the sight of our Olympic games, 
the beauty of the spot, the fleetness of the horses, 
and the gay tumult of the numerous spectators. As 
soon as the militia business was agitated, many days 
were tediously consumed in meetings of deputy-lieu- 
tenants at Petersfield, Alton, and Winchester. In the 
close of the same year (1759) Sir Simecm (then Mr.) 
Stewart attempted an unsuccessful contest for the 
county of Southampton, against Mr. Legge, Chancellor 
of the Exchequer, — a well-known contest, in which 
Lord Bute's influence was hrst exerted and censured. 
Our canvass at Portsmouth and Gosport lasted several 
days; but the interruption of my studies was com- 
pensated in some degree by the spectacle of English 
manners, and the acquisition of some practical knowl- 
edge. 

If in a more domestic or more dissipated scene my 
application was somewhat relaxed, the love of knowl- 
edge was inflamed and gratified by the command of 
books ; and I compared the poverty of Lausanne with 
the plenty of London. My father's study at Buriton 
was stuffed with much trash of the last age, with much 
high church divinity and politics, which have long since 
gone to their proper place : yet it contained some valu- 
able editions of the classics and the fathers, the choice, 
as it should seem, of Mr. Law; and many English pub- 
lications of the times had been occasionally added. 
From this slender beginning I have gradually formed 
a numerous and select library, the foundation of my 
works, and the best comfort of my life, both at home 
and abroad. On the receipt of the first quarter, a large 



130 MEMOIRS OF 

share of my allowance was appropriated to my literary 
wants. I cannot forget the joy with which I exchanged 
a bank-note of twenty pounds for the twenty volumes 
of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions ; nor 
would it have been easy, by any other expenditure of 
the same sum, to have procured so large and lasting a 
fund of rational amusement. At a time when I most 
assiduously frequented this school of ancient literature, 
I thus expressed my opinion of a learned and various 
collection, which since the year 1759 has been doubled 
in magnitude, though not in merit, — ^^ Une de ces so- 
cietes qui ont mieux immortalise Louis XIV., qu^une 
ambition souvent pernicieuse aux hommes, commen^oit 
deja ces recherches qui reunissent la justesse de I'esprit, 
Tamenite, et I'erudition : ou Ton voit tant de decou- 
vertes, et quelquefois, ce qui ne cede qu^a peine aux 
decouvertes, une ignorance modeste et savanteJ^ The 
review of my library must be reserved for the period 
of its maturity ; but in this place I may allow myself 
to observe that I am not conscious of having ever 
bought a book from a motive of ostentation ; that 
every volume, before it was deposited on the shelf, was 
either read or sufficiently examined ; and that I soon 
adopted the tolerating maxim of the elder Pliny, ^^ nul- 
lum esse librum tam malum ut non ex aliqua parte 
prodesset." I could not yet find leisure or courage to 
renew the pursuit of the Greek language, excepting by 
reading the lessons of the Old and New Testament 
every Sunday when I attended the family to church. 
The series of my Latin authors was less strenuously 
completed ; but the acquisition, by inheritance or pur- 
chase, of the best editions of Cicero, Quintilian, Livy, 
Tacitus, Ovid, etc., afforded a fair prospect which I sel- 
dom neglected. I persevered in the useful method of 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 131 

abstracts and observations ; and a single example may 
suffice of a note which had almost swelled into a work. 
The solution of a passage of Livy (XXXVIII. 38) in- 
volved me in the dry and dark treatises of Greaves, Ar- 
buthnot, Hooper, Bernard, Eisenschmidt, Gronovius, La 
Barre, Freret, etc. ; and in my French essay (Chap. 20) 
I ridiculously send the reader to my own manuscript 
remarks on the weights, coins, and measures of the 
ancients, which were abruptly terminated by the militia 
drum. 

As I am now entering on a more ample field of so- 
ciety and study, I can only hope to avoid a vain and 
prolix garrulity, by overlooking the vulgar crowd of 
my acquaintance, and confining myself to such intimate 
friends among books and men as are best entitled to 
my notice by their own merit and reputation, or by the 
deep impression which they have left on my mind. Yet 
I will embrace this occasion of recommending to the 
young student a practice which about this time I my- 
self adopted. After glancing my eye over the design 
and order of a new book, I suspended the perusal till I 
had finished the task of self-examination, till I had re- 
volved in a solitary walk all that I knew, or believed, 
or had thought on the subject of the whole work, or of 
some particular chapter : I was then qualified to discern 
how much the author added to my original stock ; and 
if I was sometimes satisfied by the agreement, I was 
sometimes alarmed by the opposition of our ideas. The 
favorite companions of my leisure were our English 
writers since the Revolution : they breathe the spirit 
of reason and liberty ; and they most seasonably con- 
tributed to restore the purity of my own language, 
which had been corrupted by the long use of a foreign 
idiom. By the judicious advice of Mr. Mallet I was 



132 MEMOIRS OF 

directed to the writings of Swift and Addison ; wit and 
simplicity are their common attributes : hut the style 
of Swift is supported by manly original vigor; that of 
Addison is adorned by the female graces of elegance 
and mildness. The old reproach, that no British altars 
had been raised to the Muse of history, was recently 
disproved by the first performances of Robertson and 
Hume, the histories of Scotland and of the Stuarts. I 
will assume the presumption of saying that I was not 
unworthy to read them : nor will I disguise my different 
feelings in the repeated perusals. The perfect compo- 
sition, the nervous language, the well-turned periods 
of Dr. Robertson, inflamed me to the ambitious hope 
that I might one day tread in his footsteps ; the calm 
philosophy, the careless, inimitable beauties of his 
friend and rival, often forced me to close the volume 
wdth a mixed sensation of delight and despair. 

The design of my first work, the Essay on the Study 
of Literature, was suggested by a refinement of vanity, 
the desire of justifying and praising the object of a 
favorite pursuit. In France, to which my ideas were 
confined, the learning and language of Greece and 
Rome were neglected by a philosophic age. The 
guardian of those studies, the Academy of Inscriptions, 
was degraded to the lowest rank among the three royal 
societies of Paris : the new appellation of Erudits w^as 
contemptuously applied to the successors of Lipsius and 
Casaubon; and I was provoked to hear (see M. d'Alem- 
bert, ^^Discours preliminaire a I'Encyclopedie '^) that 
the exercise of the memory, their sole merit, had been 
superseded by the nobler faculties of the imagination 
and the judgment. I was ambitious of proving by my 
own example, as well as by my precepts, that all the 
faculties of the mind may be exercised and displayed 



EDWAED GIBBON. 133 

"by the study of ancient literature ; I began to select 
and adorn the various proofs and illustrations which 
had offered themselves in reading the classics ; and the 
first pages or chapters of my Essay were composed be- 
fore my departure from Lausanne. Tlie hurry of the 
journey, and of the first weeks of my English life, 
suspended all thoughts of serious application : but my 
object was ever before my eyes ; and no more than ten 
days, from the 1st to the 11th of July, were suffered 
to elapse after my summer establishment at Buriton. 
My Essay was finished in about six weeks ; and as 
soon as a fair copy had been transcribed by one of the 
French prisoners at Petersfield, I looked round for a 
critic and judge of my first performance. A writer can 
seldom be content with the doubtful recompense of soli- 
tary approbation ; but a youth, ignorant of the world 
and of himself, must desire to weigh his talents in some 
scales less partial than his own : my conduct was nat- 
ural, my motive laudable, my choice of Dr. Maty judi- 
cious and fortunate. By descent and education Dr. 
Maty, though born in Holland, might be considered as 
a Frenchman ; but he was fixed in London by the prac- 
tice of physic, and an office in the British Museum. 
His reputation was justly founded on the eighteen 
volumes of the Journal Brittannique, which he had 
supported, almost alone, witli perseverance and suc- 
cess. This humble though useful labor, which had 
once been dignified by the genius of Bayle and the 
learning of Le Clerc, was not disgraced by the taste, 
the knowledge, and the judgment of Maty : he exhib- 
its a candid and pleasing view of the state of literature 
in England during a period of six years (January, 1750, 
to December, 1755) ; and, far different from his angry 
son, he handles tlie rod of criticism with the tenderness 



134 MEMOIRS OF 

and reluctance of a parent. The author of the Jour- 
nal Brittannique sometimes aspires to the character 
of a poet and philosopher ; his style is pure and ele- 
gant ; and in his virtues^ or even in his defects, he may- 
be ranked as one of the last disciples of the school of 
Fontenelle. His answer to my first letter was prompt 
and polite : after a careful examination he returned my 
manuscript, with some animadversion and much ap- 
plause ; and when I visited London in the ensuing 
winter, we discussed the design and execution in sev- 
eral free and familiar conversations. In a short excur- 
sion to Buriton I reviewed my Essay, according to his 
friendly advice ; and after suppressing a third, adding 
a third, and altering a third, I consummated my first 
labor by a short preface, which is dated February 3, 
1759. Yet I still shrunk from the press with the terrors 
of virgin modesty : the manuscript was safely deposited 
in my desk ; and as my attention was engaged by new 
objects, the delay might have been prolonged till I had 
fulfilled the precept of Horace, ^'Nonumque prematur 
in annum. ^' 

Two years elapsed in silence ; but in the spring of 
1761 I yielded to the authority of a parent, and com- 
plied, like a pious son, with the wish of my own heart. 
My private resolves were influenced by the state of 
Europe. About this time the belligerent powers had 
made and accepted overtures of peace ; our English 
plenipotentiaries were named to assist at the Congress 
of Augsburg, which never met : I wished to attend 
them as a gentleman or a secretary; and my father 
fondly believed that the proof of some literary talents 
might introduce me to public notice, and second the 
recommendations of my friends. After a last revisal, 
I consulted with Mr. Mallet and Dr. Maty, who ap- 



EDWARD GIBBON. 135 

proved the design and promoted the execution. Mr. 
Mallet, after hearing me read my manuscript, received 
it from my hands, and delivered it into those of Becket, 
with whom he made an agreement in my name, — 
an easy agreement : I required only a certain number 
of copies; and, without transferring my property, I 
devolved on the bookseller the charges and profits of 
the edition. Dr. Maty undertook, in my absence, to 
correct the sheets : he inserted, without my knowl- 
edge, an elegant and flattering epistle to the author, 
which is composed, however, with so much art, that, in 
case of a defeat, his favorable report might have been 
ascribed to the indulgence of a friend for the rash at- 
tempt of a young English gentleman. The work was 
printed and published, under the title of ^^Essai sur 
rfitude de la Litterature, a Londres, chez T. Becket 
et P. A. de Hondt, J7GJ,'^ in a small volume in duo- 
decimo: my dedication to my father, a proper and 
pious address, was composed the 28th of May. Dr. 
Maty^s letter is dated the 16th of June ; and I received 
the first copy (June 23) at Alresford, two days before 
I marched with the Hampshire militia. Some weeks 
afterwards, on the same ground, I presented my book 
to the late Duke of York, who breakfasted in Colonel 
Pitt's tent. By my father's direction, and Mallet's 
advice, many literary gifts were distributed to several 
eminent characters in England and France ; two books 
were sent to the Count de Caylus, and the Duchesse 
d'Aiguillon, at Paris : I had reserved twenty copies for 
my fiiends at Lausanne, as the first fruits of my edu- 
cation, and a grateful token of my remembrance : and 
on all these persons I levied an unavoidable tax of 
civility and compliment. It is not surprising that a 
work, of which the style and sentiments were so t(^tally 



136 MEMOIRS OF 

foreign, should have been more successful abroad than 
at home. I was delighted by the copious extracts, the 
warm commendations, and the flattering predictions, 
of the journals of France and Holland : and the next 
year (1762) a new edition (I believe at Geneva) ex- 
tended the fame, or at least the circulation, of the 
work. In England it was received with cold indiffer- 
ence, little read, and speedily forgotten : a small impres- 
sion was slowly dispersed ; the bookseller murmured, 
and the author (had his feelings been more exquisite) 
might have wept over the blunders and baldness of the 
English translation. The publication of my History 
fifteen years afterwards revived the memory of my first 
performance, and the Essay was eagerly sought in the 
shops. But I refused the permission which Becket 
solicited of reprinting it : the public curiosity was im- 
perfectly satisfied by a pirated copy of the booksellers 
of Dublin } and when a copy of the original edition has 
been discovered in a sale, the primitive value of half 
a crown has risen to the fanciful price of a guinea or 
thirty shillings. 

Upon the whole, I may apply to the first labor of 
my pen the speech of a far superior artist, when he 
surveyed the first productions of his pencil. After 
viewing some portraits which he had painted in his 
youth, my friend Sir Joshua Eeynolds acknowledged 
to me that he was rather humbl-ed than flattered by 
the comparison with his present works ; and that, after 
so much time and study, he had conceived his improve- 
ment to be much greater than he found it to have been. 

At Lausanne I composed the first chapters of my 
Essay in French, the familiar language of my conver- 
sation and studies, in which it was easier for me to 
write than in my mother-tongue. After my return to 



EDWARD GIBBON. 137 

England I continued the same practice, without any 
affectation, or design, of repudiating (as Dr. Bentley 
would say) my vernacular idiom. But I should have 
escaped some anti-gallican clamor, had I been content 
with the more natural character of an English author. 
I should have been more consistent, had I rejected 
Mallet's advice of prefixing an English dedication to a 
French book ; a confusion of tongues that seemed to 
accuse the ignorance of my patron. The use of a for- 
eign dialect might be excused by the hope of being 
employed as a negotiator, by the desire of being gener- 
ally understood on the Continent ; but my true motive 
was doubtless the ambition of new and singular fame, 
— an Englishman claiming a place among the writers 
of France. The Latin tongue had been consecrated 
by the service of the church ; it was refined by the 
imitaticm of the ancients ; and in the fifteenth and six- 
teenth centuries the scholars of Europe enjoyed tlie 
advantage, which they have gradually resigned, of 
conversing and writing in a common and learned 
idiom. As that idiom was no longer in any country 
the vulgar speech, they all stood on a level with each 
other; yet a citizen of old Rome might have smiled 
at the best Latinity of the Gennans and Britons ; and 
we may learn from th(^ Ciceronianus of Erasmus, how 
dilficult it was found to steer a middle course between 
pedantry and barbarism. The Romans themselves had 
sometimes attempted the more perilous task of writing 
in a living language, and appealing to the taste and 
judgment of the natives. The vanity of Tully was 
doubly interested in the Grreek memoirs of his own 
consulship ; and if he modestly supposes that some 
Latinisms might be detected in his style, he is confi- 
dent' of his own skill in the art of Isocrates and Aris- 



138 MEMOIRS OF 

totle ; and he requests his friend Atticus to disperse 
the copies of his work at Athens, and in the other 
cities of Greece (ad Atticum, I. 19, II. 1). But it 
must not be forgotten that from infancy to manhood 
Cicero and his contemporaries had read, and declaimed, 
and composed, with equal diligence in both languages ; 
and that he was not allowed to frequent a Latin school 
till he had imbibed the lessons of the Greek gram- 
marians and rhetoricians. In modern times the lan- 
guage of France has been diffused by the merit of her 
writers, the social manners of the natives, the influ- 
ence of the monarchy, and the exile of the Protestants. 
Several foreigners have seized the opportunity of 
speaking to Europe in this common dialect ; and Ger- 
many may plead the authority of Leibnitz and Fred- 
erick, of the first of her philosophers and the greatest 
of her kings. The just pride and laudable prejudice 
of England has restrained this communication of idiom ; 
and of all the nations on this side of the Alps, my coun- 
trymen are the least practised and least perfect in the 
exercise of the French tongue. I might therefore as- 
sume the '^ primus ego in patriam," etc., but with w^hat 
success I have explored this untrodden path must be 
left to the decision of my French readers. Dr. Maty, 
w^ho might himself be questioned as a foreigner, has 
secured his retreat at my expense. ^^ Je ne crois pas 
que vous vous piquiez d^etre moins facile a reconnoitre 
pour un Anglois que Lucullus pour un Romain.^^ My 
friends at Paris have been more indulgent ; they re- 
ceived me as a countryman, or at least as a provincial; 
but they were friends and Parisians.* The defects 
which Maty insinuates, ^' Ces traits saillans, ces figures 

* The copious extracts which were given in the Journal Etranger 
by Mr. Suard, a judicious criiic, must satisfy both the author and the 



EDWARD GIBBON. 139 

hardies, ce sacrifice de la regie au sentiment, et de la 
cadence a la force, '^ are the faults ^f the youth rather 
than of the stranger : and after the long and laborious 
exercise of my own language, I am conscious that my 
French style has been ripened and improved. 

I have already hinted that the publication of my 
Essay was delayed till I had embraced the military 
profession. I shall now amuse myself with the recol- 
lection of an active scene, which bears no affinity to 
any other period of my studious and social life. 

In the outset of a glorious war the English people 
had been defended by the aid of German mercenaries. 
A national militia has been the cry of every patriot 
since the Revolution ; and this measure, both in Par- 
liament and in the field, was supported by the country 
gentlemen, or Tories, who insensibly transferred their 
loyalty to the Hcjuse of Hanover ; in the language of 
Mr. Burke, they have changed the idol, but they have 
preserved the idolatry. In the act of offering our 
names, and receiving our commissions, as major and 
captain in the Hampshire regiment (June 12, 1759), 
we had not supposed that we should be dragged away, 
my father from his farm, myself from my books, and 
condemned during two years and a half (May 10, 
1760, to December, 28 1762) to a wandering life of 
military servitude. But a weekly or monthly exercise 
of thirty thousand provincials would have left them 
useless and ridiculous; and after the pretence of an 
invasion had vanished, the popularity of Mr. Pitt gave 
a sanction to the illegal step of keeping them till the 
end of the war under arms, in constant pay and duty, 

pul)lic. I may here observe tliat I have never seen in any literary review 
a tolerable account of my History. Tiie manufacture of journals, at least 
on the Continent, is miserably debased. 



140 MEMOIRS OF 

and at a distance from their respective homes. When 
the king's order for our embodying came down, it 
was too late to retreat and too soon to repent. The 
south battalion of the Hampshire militia was a small 
independent corps of four hundred and seventy- six, 
officers and men, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel 
Sir Thomas Worsley, who, after a prolix and passion- 
ate contest, delivered us from the tyranny of the lord 
lieutenant, the Duke of Bolton. My proper station, 
as first captain, was at the head of my own, and after- 
wards of the grenadier company; but in the absence, 
or even in the presence, of the two field officers, I 
was intrusted by my friend and my father with the 
effective labor of dictating the orders, and exercising 
the battalion. With the help of an original journal, 
i could write the history of my bloodless and inglori- 
ous campaigns; but as these events have lost much 
of their importance in my own eyes, they shall be de- 
spatched in a few words. On the beach at Dover we 
had exercised in sight of the Gallic shores. But the 
most spilendid and useful scene of our life was a four 
months' encampment on Winchester Down, under the 
command of the Earl of Effingham. Our army con- 
sisted of the thirty-fourth regiment of foot and six 
militia corps. The consciousness of defects was stim- 
ulated by friendly emulation. We improved our time 
and opportunities in morning and evening field-days ; 
and in the general reviews the South Hampslnre were 
rather a credit than a disgrace to the line. In our 
subsequent quarters of the Devizes and Blandford, 
we advanced with a quick step in our military studies ; 
the ballot of the ensuing summer renewed our vigor 
and youth ; and had the militia subsisted another year, 
we might have contested the prize with the most per- 
fect of our brethren. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 141 

The loss of so many busy and idle hours was not 
compensated by any elegant pleasure ', and my temper 
was insensibly soured by the society of our rustic offi- 
cers. In every state there exists, however, a balance 
of good and evil. The habits of a sedentary life were 
usefully broken by the duties of an active profession ', 
in the healthful exercise of the field I hunted with a 
battalion instead of a pack ; and at that time I was 
ready, at any hour of the day or night, to fly from 
quarters to London, from London to quarters, on the 
slightest call of private or regimental business. But 
my principal obligation to the militia was the making 
me an Englishman and a soldier. After my foreign 
education, with my reserved temper, I should long 
have continued a stranger to my native country, had I 
not been shaken in this various scene of new faces 
and new friends; had not experience forced me to 
feel the characters of our leading men, the state of 
parties, the forms of office, and the operation of our 
civil and military system. In this peaceful service I 
imbibed the rudiments of the language and science of 
tactics, which opened a new field of study and ob- 
servation. I diligently read and meditated the Me- 
moires Militaires of Quintus Icilius (Mr. Guichardt), 
the only writer who has united the merits of a pro- 
fessor and a veteran. The discipline and evolutions 
of a modern battalion gave me a clearer notion of the 
phalanx and the legion ; and the captain of the Hamp- 
shire grenadiers (the reader may smile) has not been 
useless to the historian of the Roman Empire. 

A youth of any spirit is fired even by the play of 
arms, and in the first sallies of my enthusiasm I had 
seriously attempted to embrace the regular profession 
of a soldier. But this military fever was cooled by 



142 MEMOIRS OF 

the enjoyment of our mimic Bellona, who soon un- 
veiled to my eyes her naked deformity. How often 
did I sigh for my proper station in society and letters ! 
How often (a proud comparison) did I repeat the 
complaint of Cicero in the command of a provincial 
army: ^^Clitellse bovi sunt impositse. Est incredi- 
bile quam me negotii tsedeat. Non habet satis mag- 
num campum ille tibi non ignotis cursus animi ; et 
industrise meae prseclara opera cessat. Lucem, lihros, 
urbem^ domum, vos desidero. Sed feram, ut potero; 
sit Hiodo annuum. Si prorogatur^ actum est." * From 
a service without danger I might indeed have retired 
without disgrace ; but as often as I hinted a wish of 
resignation 7 my fetters were riveted by the friendly 
entreaties of the colonel, the parental authority of 
the major, and my own regard for the honor' and 
welfare of the battalion. When I felt that my per- 
sonal escape was impracticable, I bowed my neck to 
the yoke : my servitude was protracted far beyond 
the annual patience of Cicero; and it was not till 
after the preliminaries of peace that I received my 
discharge from the act of government which disem- 
bodied the militia. 

When I complain of the vloss of time, justice to 
myself and to the militia must throw the greatest 
part of that reproach on the first seven or eight months, 
while I was obliged to learn as well as to teach. The 
dissipation of Blandford, and the disputes of Ports- 
mouth, consumed the hours which were not employed 
in the field ; and amid the perpetual hurry of an inn, 
a barrack, or a guard-room, all literary ideas were 
banished from my mind. After this long fast, the 

* Epist. Atticum, Lib. V. 15. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 143 

longest which I have ever known, I once more tasted 
at Dover the pleasures of reading and thinking; and 
the hungry appetite with which I opened a volume 
of Tully's philosophical works is still present to my 
memory. The last review of my Essay hefore its pub- 
lication had prompted me to investigate the Nature of 
the Gods } my inquiries led me to the Histoire Critique 
du Manicheism of Beausobre, who discusses many deep 
questions of Pagan and Christian theology ; and from 
this rich treasury of facts and opinions I deduced my 
own consequences, beyond the holy circle of the author. 
After this recovery I never relapsed into indolence; 
and my example might prove that in the life most 
averse to study some hours may be stolen, some 
minutes may be snatched. Amidst the tumult of 
Winchester camp I sometimes thought and read in my 
tent ; in the more settled quarters of Devizes, Bland- 
ford, and Southampton I always secured a separate 
lodging and the necessary booiis ; and in the summer 
of 1762, while the new militia was raising, I enjoyed 
at Beriton two or three months of literary repose.* In 

* Journal, May 8, 1762. — This was my birthday, on wliich I entered 
into the twenty-sixth year of my age. This gave me occasion to look a 
little into myself, and consider impartially my good and bad qualities. It 
appeared to me, upon this inquiry, that my character was virtuous, inca- 
pable of a base action, and formed for generous ones ; but that it was 
proud, violent, and disagreeable in society. These qualities I must 
endeavor to cultivate, extirpate, or restrain, according to their different 
tendency. Wit I have none. My imagination is rather strong than 
pleasing ; my memory both capacious and retentive. The shining quali- 
ties of my understanding are extensiveness and penetration ; but 1 want 
both quickness and exactness. As to my situation in life, though I may 
sometimes repine at it, it perhaps is the best adapted to my character. I 
can command all the conveniences of life, and 1 can command too that 
independence (that first earthly blessing) which is hardly to be met with 
in a higher or lower fortune. When I talk of my situation, I must ex- 
clude that temporary one of being in the militia. Though I go through it 
with spirit and application, it is both unlit for and unworthy of me. 



144 MEMOIES OF 

forming a new plan of study, I hesitated between tlie 
mathematics and the Greek language ] both of which 
I had neglected since my return from Lausanne. I 
consulted a learned and friendly mathematician, Mr. 
George Scott, a pupil of De Moivre ; and his map of 
a country which I have never explored may perhaps 
be more serviceable to others. As soon as I had given 
the preference to Greek, the example of Scaliger and 
my own reason determined me on the choice of Homer, 
the father of poetry, and the Bible of the ancients : 
but Scaliger ran through the Iliad in one -and- twenty 
days 'j and I was not dissatisfied with my own diligence 
for performing the same labor in an equal number of 
weeks. After the first difficulties were surmounted, 
the language of nature and harmony soon became easy 
and familiar, and each day I sailed upon the ocean 
with a brisker gale and a more steady course. 

'Ep 5' ai/efios Trprjaev fxeaov lariov, dfJL(pl 8e Kv/iia 
XTeipr) irop(pvp€OV jmeydX tax^, v-qhs loixyqs * 
'H 5' eCeev Kara Kvpia^ diairprjaaovaa KcXevOov.* 

Ilias, a. 481. 

In the study of a poet who has since become the 
most intimate of my friends, I successively applied 
many passages and fragments of Greek writers ; and 
among these I shall notice a life of Homer, in the 
Opuscula Mythologica of Gale, several books of the 
geography of Strabo, and the entire treatise of Lon- 
ginus, which, from the title and the style, is equally 
worthy of the epithet of subhme. My grammatical 

* I'air wind, and lalowing fresh, 
Apollo sent them; quick they rear'd the mast. 
Then spread th' unsullied canvas to the gale. 
And the wind fill'd it. Roar'd the sable flood 
Around the bark, that ever as she went 
Dash'd wide the brine, and scudded swift away. 

Cowper's Homer. 



EDWAKD GIBBOX. 145 

skill was improved, my vocabulary was enlarged ; and 
in the militia I acquired a just and indelible knowledge 
of the first of languages. On every march, in every 
journey, Horace was always in my pocket, and often 
in my hand : but I should not mention his two critical 
epistles, the amusement of a morning, had they not 
been acc;t)mpanied by the elaborate commentary of Dr. 
Hurd, now Bishop of Worcester. On the interesting 
subjects of composition and imitation of epic and dra- 
matic poetry, I presumed to think for myself; and 
thirty close- written pages in folio could scarcely com- 
prise my full and free discussion of the sense of the 
master and the pedantry of the servant. 

After his oracle Dr. Johnson, my friend Sir Joshua 
Reynolds denies all original genius, any natural pro- 
pensity of the mind to one art or science rather than 
another. Without engaging in a metaphysical or 
rather verbal dispute, I knoiVj by experience, that from 
my early youth I aspired to the character of an his- 
torian. While I served in the militia, before and after 
the publication of my Essay, this idea ripened in my 
mind ; nor can I paint in ?nore lively colors the feel- 
ings of the moment than by transcribing some pas- 
sages, under their respective dates, from a journal 
which I kept at that thne. 

{In a sJiort excursion from Dover.) 

Beritox, April 14, 1761. — Having thought of several sub- 
jects for an historical composition, I chose the expedition of 
Charles the Eighth of France into Italy. T read two memoirs of 
Mr.de Foncemagne in the Academy of Inscriptions (Tom. XVII. 
p. 539 - 607, and abstracted them. I likewise finished this 
day a dissertation in which I examine the right of Charles the 
Eighth to the crown of Naples, and the rival claims of the houses 
of Anjou and Arragon : it consists of ten folio pages, besides 
large notes. 



146 MEMOIRS OF 

{In a week's excursion from Winchester camp.) 
Beriton, August 4, 1761. — After having long revolved 
subjects for .my intended historical essay, I renounce my first 
thought of the expedition of Charles the Eighth, as too remote 
from us, and rather an introduction to great events than great 
and important in itself, I successively chose and rejected the 
crusade of Richard the First, the barons' wars against John and 
Henry the Third, the history of Edward the Black Prince, the 
lives and comparisons of Henry the Fifth and the Emperor Titus, 
the life of Sir Philip Sidney, and that of the Marquis of Mon- 
trose. At length I have fixed on Sir Walter Raleigh for my hero. 
His eventful story is varied by the characters of the soldier and 
sailor, the courtier and historian ; and it may afford such a 
fund of materials as I desire, which have not yet been properly 
manufactured. At present I cannot attempt the execution of 
this work. Free leisure, and the opportunity of consulting 
many books, both printed and manuscript, are as necessary as 
they are impossible to be attained in my present way of life. 
However, to acquire a general insight into my subject and 
resources, I read the Xife of Sir Walter Raleigh by Dr. Birch, 
his copious article in the General Dictionary by the same hand, 
and the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James the First in 
Hume's History of England. 

{In a month's absence from Devizes.) 
Beriton, January, 1762. — During this interval of repose 
I again turned my thoughts to Sir Walter Raleigh, and looked 
more closely into my materials. I read the two volumes in 
quarto of the Bacon papers, published by Dr. Birch ; the Frag- 
menta Regalia of Sir Robert Naunton, Mallet's Life of Lord 
Bacon, and the political treatises of that great man in the first 
volume of his works, with many of his letters in the second ; Sir 
William Monson's Naval Tracts ; and the elaborate Life of Sir 
Walter Raleigh, which Mr. Oldys has prefixed to the best edition 
of his History of the^World. My subject opens upon me, and 
in general improves upon a nearer prospect. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 147 

{During my summer residence^ 
Bertton, July 26, 1762. — I am afraid of being reduced to 
drop my hero ; but my time has not, however, been lost in the 
research of his story, and of a memorable era of our English 
annals. The Life of Sir "Walter Raleigh, by Oldys, is a very 
poor performance ; a servile panegyric, or flat apology, tediously 
minute, and composed in a dull and aifected style. Yet the 
author was a man of diligence and learning, who had read 
everything relative to his subject, and whose ample collections 
are arranged with perspicuity and method. Excepting some 
anecdotes lately revealed in the Sidney and Bacon papers, I know 
not what I should be able to add. My ambition (exclusive of 
the uncertain merit of style and sentiment) must be confined 
to the hope of giving a good abridgment of Oldys. I have even 
the disappointment of finding some parts of this copious work 
very dry and barren ; and these parts are unluckily some of the 
most characteristic : Raleigh's colony of Virginia, his quarrels 
with Essex, the true secret of his conspiracy, and, above all, the 
detail of his private life, the most essential and important to 
a biographer. My best resource would be in the circumjacent 
history of the times, and perhaps in some digressions artfully 
introduced, like the fortunes of the Peripatetic philosophy in 
the portrait of Lord Bacon. But the reigns of Elizabeth and 
James the First are the periods of English history which have 
been the most variously illustrated : and what new lights 
could reflect on a subject which has exercised the accurate 
industry of Birch, the lively and curious acuteness of Walpole, 
the critical spirit of Hurd, the vigorous sense of Mallet and 
Robertson, and the impartial philosophy of Hume? Could 
1 even surmount these obstacles, I should shrink with terror 
from the modern history of England, where every character is 
a problem, and every reader a friend or an enemy ; where a 
writer is supposed to hoist a flag of party, and is devoted to 
damnation by the adverse faction. Such would be my recep- 
tion at home : and abroad the historian of Raleigh must 
encounter an indifference far more bitter than censure or re- 



148 MEMOIRS OF 

proach. The events of his life are interesting ; but his char- 
acter is ambiguous, his actions are obscure, his writings are 
English, and his fame is confined to the narrow limits of our 
language and our island. I must embrace a safer and more 
extensive theme. 

There is one which I should prefer to all others, " The 
History of the Liberty of the Swiss," of that independence 
which a brave people rescued from the House of Austria, de- 
fended against a dauphin of France, and finally sealed with the 
blood of Charles of Burgundy. From such a theme, so full of 
public spirit, of military glory, of examples of virtue, of lessons 
of government, the dullest stranger would catch fire ; what 
might not / hope, whose talents, whatsoever they may be, 
would be inflamed with the zeal of patriotism ? But the ma- 
terials of this history are inaccessible to me, fast locked in the 
obscurity of an old barbarous German dialect, of which I am 
totally ignorant, and which I cannot resolve to learn for this 
sole and peculiar purpose. 

I have another subject in view, which is the contrast of the 
former history : the one a poor, warlike, virtuous republic, 
which emerges into glory and freedom ; the other a common- 
wealth, soft, opulent, and corrupt, which by just degrees is 
precipitated from the abuse to the loss of her liberty : both 
lessons are perhaps equally instructive. This second subject is 
" The History of the Republic of Florence under the House of 
Medicis," a period of one hundred and fifty years, which rises 
or descends from the dregs of the Florentine democracy to the 
title and dominion of Cosmo de Medicis in the Grand Duchy of 
Tuscany. I might deduce a chain of revolutions not unworthy 
of the pen of Vertot ; singular men and singular events ; the 
Medicis four times expelled and as often recalled; and the 
Genius of Freedom reluctantly yielding to the arms of Charles 
the Fifth and the policy of Cosmo. The character and fate of 
Savonarola, and the revival of arts and letters in Italy, will be 
essentially connected with the elevation of the family and the 
faU of the republic. The Medicis, " stirps quasi fataliter nata ad 



EDWARD GIBBON. 149 

instauranda vel fovenda studia," (Lipsius ad Germanos et Gallos, 
Epist. VIII.) were illustrated by the patronage of learning ; and 
eiithusiasm was the most formidable weapon of their adver- 
saries. On this splendid subject I shall most probably fix ; 
but when or where or how will it be executed ? I behold in 
a dark and doubtful perspective, 

" Res alta terra, et caligine mersas." 

The youthful habits of the language and manners of 
France had left in my mind an ardent desire of revisit- 
ing the Continent on a larger and more liberal plan.- 
According to the law of custom, and perhaps of reason, 
foreign travel completes the education of an English 
gentleman : my father had consented to my wish, but 
I was detained above four years by my rash engage- 
ment in the militia. I eagerly grasped the first mo- 
ments of freedom : three or four weeks in Hampshire 
and London were employed in the preparations of my 
journey, and the farewell visits of friendship and civil- 
ity ) my last act in town was to applaud Mallet's new 
tragedy of Elvira ; a post-chaise conveyed me to Dover, 
the packet to Boulogne ; and such was my diligence, 
that I reached Paris on the 23th of January, 1763, only 
thirty-six days after the disbanding of the militia. Two 
or three years were loosely defined for the term of my 
absence ; and I was left at liberty to spend that time 
in such places and in such a manner as was most agree- 
able to my taste and judgment. 

In this first visit I passed three months and a half 
(January 28 to May 9), and a much longer space 
might have been agreeably filled without any inter- 
course with the natives. At home we are content to 
move in the daily round of pleasure and business ; and 
a scene which is always present is supposed to be with- 
in our knowledge, or at least within our power. But 



150 MEMOIRS OF 

in a foreign country curiosity is our business and our 
pleasure; and the traveller, conscious of his ignorance, 
and covetous of his time, is diligent in the search and 
the view of every object that can deserve his attention. 
I devoted many hours of the morning to the circuit of 
Paris and the neighborhood, to the visit of churches 
and palaces conspicuous by their architecture, to the 
royal manufactures, collections of books and pictures, 
and all the various treasures of art, of learning, and of 
luxury. An Englishman may hear without reluctance 
that in these curious and costly articles Paris is superior 
to London; since the opulence of the French capital 
arises from the defects of its government and religion. 
In the absence of Louis the Fourteenth and his succes- 
sors, the Louvre has been left unfinished ; but the mil- , 
lions which have been lavished on the sands of Ver- 
sailles and the morass of Marli could not be supplied by 
the legal allowance of a British king. The splendor of 
the French nobles is confined to their town residences ; 
that of the English is more usefully distributed in their 
country-seats ; and we should be astonished at our own 
riches if the labors of architecture, the spoils of Italy 
and Greece, which are now scattered from Inverary to 
Wilton, were accumulated in a few streets between 
Marylebone and Westminster. All superfluous ornar 
ment is rejected by the cold frugality of the Protes- 
tants; but the Catholic superstition, which is always 
the enemy of reason, is often the parent of the arts. 
The wealthy communities of priests and monks expend 
their revenues in stately edifices ; and the parish church 
of St. Sulpice, one of the noblest structures in Paris, 
was built and adorned by the private industry of a 
late cure. In this outset, and still more in the sequel 
of my tour, my eye was amused ; but the pleasing 



EDWARD GIBBON. 151 

vision cannot be fixed by the pen ) the particular im- 
ages are darkly seen through the medium of five-and- 
twenty years, and the narrative of my life must not 
degenerate into a book of travels. 

But the principal end of my journey was to enjoy the 
society of a polished and amiable people, in whose 
favor I was strongly prejudiced, and to converse with 
some authors whose conversation, as I fondly imagined, 
must be far more pleasing and instructive than their 
writings. The moment was happily chosen. At the 
close of a successful war the British name was respected 
on the Continent : — 

" Clarum et venerabile nomen 
Gentibus." 

Our opinions, our fashions, even our games, were 
adopted in France ; a ray of national glory illuminated 
each individual, and every Englishman was supposed 
to be born a patriot and a philosopher. For myself, I 
carried a personal recommendation ; my name and my 
Essay were already known ; the compliment of having 
written in the French language entitled me to some 
returns of civility and gratitude. I was considered as 
a man of letters, who wrote for amusement. Before 
my departure I had obtained from the Duke de Niver- 
nois. Lady Hervey, the Mallets, Mr. Walpole, etc., 
many letters of recommendation to their private or lit- 
erary friends. Of these epistles the reception and suc- 
cess were determined by the character and situation of 
the persons by whom and to whom they were addressed : 
the seed was sometimes cast on a barren rock, and it 
sometimes multiplied an hundred -fold in the production 
of new shoots, spreading branches, and exquisite fruit. 
But upon the whole, I had reason to praise the national 
urbanity, which from the C(Hirt has diffused its gentle 



152 MEMOIRS OF 

influence to the shop, the cottage, and the schools. Of 
the men of genius of the age, Montesquieu and Fon- 
tenelle were no more ; Voltaire resided on his own 
estate near Geneva; Rousseau in the preceding year 
had been driven from his hermitage of Montmorency ; 
and I blush at my having neglected to seek in this 
journey the acquaintance of Buffon. Among the men 
of letters whom I saw, D^Alembert and Diderot held 
the foremost rank in merit, or at least in fame. I shall 
content myself with enumerating the well-known names 
of the Count de Caylus, of the Abbe de la Bleterie, 
Barthelemy, Reynal, Arnaud, of Messieurs de la Con- 
damine, du Clos, de Ste. Palaye, de Bougainville, Ca- 
peronnier, de Guignes, Suard, etc., without attempting 
to discriminate the shades of their characters, or the 
degrees of our connection. Alone, in a morning visit, 
I commonly found the artists and authors of Paris less 
vain and more reasonable than in the circles of their 
equals, with whom they mingle in the houses of the 
rich. Four days in a week I had a place, without in- 
vitation, at the hospitable tables of Mesdames Geoffrin 
and du Bocage, of the celebrated Helvetius, and of the 
Baron d'Olbach. In these symposia the pleasures of 
the table were improved by lively and liberal conver- 
sation } the company was select, though various and 
voluntary.* 

* Journal, iHf^/y, 1763. — rurnislied witli a double letter of recommen- 
dation to the Count de Caylus, I expected to find in him a union of the 
man of quality and the man of letters. I saw him two or three times, 
and found him a simple, plain, good man, who received me with extreme 
kindness. If 1 have not profited by him, I attribute it less to his character 
than his manner of living. He rises early in the morning, visits the 
studies of artists all the day, and returns home at six o'clock in the even- 
ing to put on a rohe-de-chambre and shut himself up in Ids cabinet. 
Where is the opportunity to receive friends ? 

If this introduction proved fruitless, there have been others as fertile 



EDWARD GIBBOK 153 

The society of Madame du Bocage was more soft 
and moderate than that of her rivals, and the evening 
conversations of M. de Forcemagne were supported by 
the good sense and learning of the principal members 
of the Academy of Inscriptions. The opera and the 
Italians I occasionally visited ; but the French theatre, 
both in tragedy and comedy, was my daily and favorite 
amusement. Two famous actresses then divided the 
public applause. For my own part, I preferred the 
consummate art of the Clairon* to the intemperate 
sallies of the Dumesnil, which were extolled by her 
admirers as the genuine voice of nature and passion. 
Fourteen weeks insensibly stole away ; but had I been 
rich and independent, I should have prolonged, and 
perhaps have fixed, my residence at Paris. 

Between the expensive style of Paris and of Italy 
it was prudent to interpose some months of tranquil 
simplicity ; and at the thoughts of Lausanne I again 
lived in the pleasures and studies of my early youth. 
Shaping my course through Dijon and Besan^on, in 
the last of which places I was kindly entertained by 
my Cousin Acton, I arrived in the month of May, 1763, 
on the banks of the Leman Lake. It had been my 

in consequences as agreeable in themselves. In a capital like Paris it 
is proper and necessary to have some letters of recommendation to dis- 
tinguish you from the crowd ; but as soon as the ice is broken, your ac- 
quaintances multiply, and your new friends take a pleasure in introducing 
you to others still more new. Happy effect of the light and amiable 
character of the French, who have established in Paris a freedom and 
ease in society unknown to antiquity, and still unpractised by other 
nations ! At London a way must be made into people's houses, the doors 
of which are with difficulty opened, and their owners tliink they confer a 
favor by recei\ing you. Here they think that they confer one upon 
themselves. Thus I know more houses in Paris than in London. The 
fact seems improbal)le, but it is true. 

* The reader will find in the Autobiography of Marmontel a charming 
account of this great actress, the first of the realists on the French stage. 



154 MEMOIRS OF 

intention to pass the Alps in the autumn, hut such 
are the simple attractions of the place, that the year 
had almost expired before my departure from Lausanne 
in the ensuiug spring. An absence of five years had 
not made much alteration in manners, or even in per- 
sons. My old friends, of both sexes, hailed my 
voluntary return, — the most genuine proof of my 
attachment. They had been flattered by the present 
of my hook, the produce of their soil ; and the good 
Pavilliard shed tears of joy as he embraced a pupil 
whose literary merit he might fairly impute to his own 
labors. To my old list I added some new acquaint- 
ance, and among the strangers I shall distinguish 
Prince Louis of Wllrtemherg, the brother of the 
reigning duke, at whose country-house near Lau- 
sanne I frequently dined : a wandering meteor, and 
at length a falling star, his light and ambitious spirit 
had successively dropped from the firmament of Prus- 
sia, of France, and of Austria ; and his faults, which 
he styled his misfortunes, had driven him into philo- 
sophic exile in the Pays de Yaud. He could now 
moralize on the vanity of the world, the equality of 
mankind, and the happiness of a private station. His 
address was aifable and polite } and as he had shone 
in courts and armies, his memory could supply, and 
his eloquence could adorn, a copious fund of interest- 
ing anecdotes. His first enthusiasm was that of charity 
and agriculture ; but the sas^e gradually lapsed in the 
saint, and Prince Louis of Wiirtemberg is now huried 
in a hermitage near Mayence, in the last stage of mys- 
tic devotion.* By some ecclesiastical quarrel Voltaire 

* Journal, Avgnst 21. — I have dined ai Benan's with Prince Louis 
of Wiirtenihevg, heing tlie second time. He invited nie to meet the Prince 
de Ligne, wiio did not keep his appointment. The Prince of Wiirtemherg 



EDWARD GIBBOK 155 

had been provoked to withdraw himself from Lau- 
sanne, and retire to his castle at Ferney, where I again 
visited the poet and the actor, without seeking his more 
intimate acquaintance, to which I might now have 
pleaded a better title. But the theatre which he had 
founded, the actors whom he had formed, survived the 
loss of their master ; and, recent from Paris, I attended 
with pleasure at the representation of several tragedies 
and comedies. I shall not descend to specify particular 
names and characters ; but I cannot forget a private 
institution which will display the innocent freedom of 
Swiss manners. My favorite society had assumed, 
from the age of its members, the proud denomination 

seems to like me much. To tlie easy and natural politeness which he dis- 
plays to all the world, he adds, in regard to me, a tone of confidence, es- 
teem, and even affection. With such manners it is impossible for a prince 
to displease you ; and 1 find him possessed of wit, learning, and a great 
knowledge of the world. As he is acquainted with almost all the courts 
of Europe, he seasons his conversation with political and literary anec- 
dotes wliich render it very amusing. 1 perceive that he possesses not 
the usual pride of a German prince ; and the indignation which he mani- 
fested against one of his ancestors, who wished to sell a village in order 
to purchase a liorse, induced me to hope that he was also destitute of the 
hard-heartedness. I believe, however, that he has always failed a little 
on the score of prudence ; some ambitious arid chimerical projects of 
which they accuse him,* his wandering life, his quarrels with his brother, 
his dissipations and disgrace at the Court of Vienna, all sein-e to convince 
me of it. His situation in this country supplies another proof of it. A 
prince of one of the first houses of Germany, exiled (may I say ?) or re- 
tired into Switzerland, where he scarcely maintains the state of a private 
gentleman, cannot be thus without some little fault on his own part. His 
wife accompanies him in his retreat. She is a Saxon young lady, without 
either wealth or beauty, and, the public adds, even without intellect ; but 
I have begun to discover the contrary. As the prince is mishUied, accord- 
ing to the haughty laws of the E npire, his children are excluded from the 
succession. Fortunately he has but one girl. 

* Vide the Pohtical Testament of the Marshnl de Belleisle; a work 
M'orthy of a lackey, but of the lackey of a minister, and one who has 
heard many curious anecdotes. 



156 MEMOIES OF 

of the Spring (la societe du printems). It consisted of 
fifteen or twenty young unmarried ladies, of genteel 
though not of the very first families; the eldest per- 
haps about twenty ; all agreeable, several handsome, 
and two or three of exquisite beauty. At each other's 
houses they assembled almost every day, without the 
control or even the presence of a mother or an aunt ; 
they were trusted to their own prudence, among a 
crowd of young men of every nation in Europe. They 
laughed, they sang, they danced, they played at cards, 
they acted comedies ; but in the midst of this careless 
gayety they respected themselves, and were respected 
by the men } the invisible line between liberty and 
licentiousness was never trjiUsgressed by a gesture, a 
w^ord, or a look ; and their virgin chastity was never 
sullied by the breath of scandal or suspicion : a singu- 
lar institution, expressive of the innocent simplicity 
of Swiss manners. After having tasted the luxury of 
England and Paris, I could not have returned with 
satisfaction to the coarse and homely table of Madame 
Pavilliard } nor was her husband offended that I now 
entered myself as a pensiomiaire, or boarder, in the 
elegant house of Mr. de Mesery, which may he entitled 
to a short remembrance, as it has stood above twenty 
years, perhaps, without a parallel in Europe. The 
house in which we lodged was spacious and convenient, 
in the best street, and commanding from behind a no- 
ble prospect over the country and the lake. Our table 
was served with neatness and plenty ; the boarders 
were select } we had the liberty of inviting any guests 
at a stated price ; and in the summer the scene was 
occasionally transferred to a pleasant villa about a 
league from Lausanne. The characters of master and 
mistress were happily suited to each other, and to their 



EDWARD GIBBON. 157 

situation. At the age of seveiity*iive Madame de 
Mesery, who has survived her husband, is still a grace- 
ful, I had almost said a handsome, woman. She was 
alike qualified to preside in her kitchen and her draw- 
ing-room ; and such was the equal propriety of her 
conduct, that of two or three hundred foreigners none 
ever failed in respect, none could complain of her neg- 
lect, and none could ever boast of her favor. Mesery 
himself, of the noble family of De Crousaz, was a man 
of the world, a jovial companion, whose easy manners 
and natural sallies maintained the cheerfulness of his 
house. His wit could laugh at his own ignorance ; he 
disguised, by an air of profusion^ a strict attention to 
his interest ; and in this situation he appeared like a 
nobleman who spent his fortune and entertained his 
friends. In this agreeable society I resided nearly 
eleven months (May, 1763^ to April, 1764) ; and in this 
second visit to Lausanne, among a crowd of my Eng- 
lish companions, I knew and esteemed Mr. Holroyd 
(now Lord Sheffield) ; and our mutual attachment was 
renewed and fortified in the subsequent stages of our 
Italian journey. Our lives are in the power of chance ; 
and a slight variation on either side, in time or place, 
might have deprived me of a friend w^hose activity in 
the ardor of youth was always prompted by a benevo- 
lent heart, and directed by a strong understanding.* 

* Journal, December 1, 1763. — We all went to church to witness the 
ceremony of the day. It was the presentation of the bailiff at the great 
church, and the taking of the oath by the town of Lausanne, the vassals, 
and all the commonalty of the bailiage. The principal minister, Poller de 
RoUens, preached on this occasion. He astonished us ; instead of those 
compositions, cold and without ideas, which he dignifies but too often 
with the name of sermons, he has displayed to-day the talents of an ora- 
tor and the sentiments of a citizen. He has managed to speak to the 
ruler of his duties, and to the people of their rights, founded in l)oth in- 
stances upon the will of freemen, who acknowledge a prince but not a 



158 MEMOIRS OF 

If my studies at Paris had been confined to the 
study of the world, three or four montlis would not 

tyrant. He bestowed his panegyric sparingly, appropriately, and without 
triteness or insipidity. His gesture and delivery M^ere adapted to the 
spirit of the subject, being full of dignity, devotion, and earnestness. 
After the sermon, the preacher repaired to the choir of the church, fol- 
lowed by the bailiff and the whole assembly. There he presented to the 
bailiage their new governor, wlioni he announced in a brief speech, which 
appeared to me to be pregnant with matter. The Bursar replied to him, 
but so low that I lost all which he said. Is the word " lost " properly 
employed here ? As to the rest, never was ceremony conducted with less 
decorum ; the disorder was frightful. The grenadiers of George Grand 
were present, only to keep out decent people and admit the mob. 

Lausanne, December 18, 17G3. — This was a Sunday of communion : 
religious ceremonies are well understood in this country. They are 
rare, and on that account the more respected. Old people indeed com- 
plain of the coldness of devotion ; but nevertheless a day like this offers 
an edifying spectacle. No business, no asseml)ly; even whist is for- 
bidden, so necessary to the existence of a native of Lausanne. 

For some days past I have lost my time, and it was fortunate when my 
time only was lost. 1 have played much, or at least 1 have betted much 
among the circle ; and after some fortunate beginnings I was duly intro- 
duced to whist and to piquet, at the exp.nse of forty louis-d'ors. 1 then 
had courage to stop all on a sudden ; and, without allowing myself to be 
dazzled by the vain hopes of retrieving my loss, 1 have renounced high 
play, at least for some time. It would be better to renounce it forever. 
Many inconveniences result from it : loss of time, bad company, the con- 
tinual agitation of hope and fear, which sooner or later affect the temper, 
and undermine the health. Can a taste for study and reflection associate 
itself with one for gaming ? I have, moreover, been often led to remark, 
that the pain and pleasure are not equal, and that loss, somehow or 
another, produces more uneasiness than a similar gain affords satisfac- 
tion. The reason is evident : our expenditure is usually adapted to our 
income, and an unexpected loss leads to the privation of some necessary, 
or at least some convenience, upon which we have counted. The gain, 
on the contrary, is too uncertain and precarious to induce a man of sense 
to change his plan of living, and therefore merely produces a transient 
satisfaction. So much for wisdom 'post factum. If I had made these 
reflections some days sooner, I should have spared myself some disagree- 
able things in relation to my father, who may not feel disposed to recon- 
cile himself to this increase of expense. 

December Z\. — Let me cast an eye upon the year 1763. Let me see 
how I have employed that portion of my existence which is never to re- 
turn. The month of January was passed in the bosom of my family, to 



EDWARD GIBBON. 159 

have been uiiprofitably spent. My visits, however 
superficial, to the Academy of Medals and the public 

whom it was necessary to sacrifice every moment immediately previous 
to my departure. During ttie journey, however, 1 found means to read 
the letters of " Busbeqiiius," imperial minister at tlie Porte : tliey are as 
interesting as instructive. I remained At Paris from the 28th of January 
to the 9th of May, during all which time I studied nothing. Public 
amusements occupied me a great deal; and the habit of dissipation, ac- 
quired so easily in large towns, would not allow me to prolit by the time 
of my stay. But in truth, although 1 turned over only a few books, an 
attention to all the curious objects which present themselves in a great 
capital, and conversation with some of the greatest men of the age, have 
instructed me in many things which 1 could not have found in books. 
The latter seven or eight months of my life have been more tranquil. As 
soon as I saw myself settled at Lausanne, I undertook a regular course 
of study of the ancient geograpliy of Italy. My ardor did not flag for six 
weeks, until the end of the month of June. It was then that a journey to 
Geneva interrupted my attention ; that the abode of Mesery produced 
a thousand distractions, and that the society of Saussure completed the 
sacrifice of my time. I resumed my labor, and this Journal, in the mid- 
dle of August ; and from that time to the beginning of November, I made 
the most of my time. I must confess that for the last two months my 
ardor has in some degree abated. In the first place, during this course 
of study, I have read — 1. Nearly ten books of the geography of Strabo 
upon Italy twice over. 3. A part of the second book of the Natural His- 
tory of Pliny. 3. The fourth book of the second chapter of Pomponius 
Mela. 4. The Itineraries of Antoninus, and of Jerusalem, in regard to 
that which concerns Italy. These I have read with the Comments of 
Wesseling, etc. I have constructed tables of all the great roads of Italy^ 
reducing the Roman miles into English miles and French leagues, ac- 
cording to the calculations of D' An villa. 5. The History of the Great 
Roads of the Roman Empire, by M Bergier, 2 vols. 4to. 6. Some choice 
extracts from Cicero, Livy, Velleius Paterculus, Tacitus, and the two 
Plinys. The Roma Vetus of Nardini, and many other tracts on the same 
subject, which compose nearly the whole of the fourth volume of the 
Treasure of Roman Antiquities by Grsevius. 7- The Italia Antiqua of 
Cluvier, in 2 vols, folio. 8. The " Iter " or Journey of C. Rutilius 
Nuniatianus among the Gauls. 9. The catalogues of Virgil. 10. That 
of Silius Italicus. II. The journey of Horace to Brundusium. N. B. 
I have perused the three last items three times over. 12. Treatise on 
the Measurement of the Itineraries by D'Anville, and some Memoirs of 
the Academy of Belles-Lettres. Secondly, as they made me wait at tlie 
library of Geneva for Nardini, I felt desirous of filling up the interval by 
a perusal of Juvenal, a poet M'hom I hitherto only knew by his reputa- 



160 MEMOIKS OF 

libraries opened a new field of inquiry ; and the view 
of so many manuscripts of different ages and charac- 

tion : I read liini twice with pleasure and with care. Thirdly, during the 
year I have read some journals, and, among the rest, the Journal Ecran- 
ger since its commencement ; a volume of the Nouvelles of Bayle; and 
thd thirty-live lirst volumes of the Bibliotheque Raisonnee. Fourthly, I 
have written a good deal of my Recueil Geigrapliique de I'ltalie, which 
is already tolerably ample, and sufficiently curious. Fifthly, 1 have not 
neglected this Journal, which has become a work : 214 pages in four 
months and a half; and some of these, the best filled up, form a some- 
thing considerable; and, without resting upon detached observation, tluy 
will contain some learned and argumentative dissertations. That on the 
passage of Hannibal contains ten pages, and that on the Social War, a 
dozen. But these passages are too lengtliy, and even the journal itself 
lias need of reform, and requires the retrenchment of pieces which are 
foreign to its genuine plan. After having duly reflected as above, here 
follow some of the objects which I regard as belonging to it. First, all 
my domestic and private life, my amusements, my engagements, even my 
rambles, with all my reflections that turn upon subjects which are per- 
sonal as regards myself; I allow that all this is interesting only to my- 
self; but it is only for myself my Journal is written. Secondly, all which 
I learn from observation or conversation ; but so that 1 record that only 
which 1 acquire from well-informed and veracious persons in relation to 
facts, or from the small numlier of those who merit the title of great men, 
as concerns sentiments and opinions. Thirdly, I will carefully note all 
that relates to the most important part of my studies; how many hours I 
have worked ; how many pages I have written or read, with a brief ac- 
count of the subjects on which they treat. Fourthly, 1 should be sorry to 
read without reflecting on what I read ; without recording my digested 
judgment on my author, or without sifting with care their ideas and 
expressions. But all sorts of reading do not equally call for this. Some 
books may be run over, some be read, and others be studied. My re- 
marks upon those of the first class need only be short and detached ; they 
belong to my Journal, in which those arising out of the second class may 
also find a place, but only in proportion as they partake of the same 
character. Fifthly, my reflections upon the small number of choice au- 
thors, as they will be meditated with care. Mill naturally be rendered 
lengthy and profound. For these, and for the more extended and 
original pieces to which reading or meditation may give rise, I will 
form a separate repository. In the mean time I shall preserve its con- 
nection with the journal by constant references, which will mark the 
number of every piece, and the time and occasion of its composition. 
With these arrangements my Journal cannot but be useful. So exact an 
account of my time will make me better acquainted with its value, and 



EDWARD GIBBON. 161 

ters induced me to consult the two great Benedictine 
works, the Diplomatica of Mabillon, and the Palseo- 
graphia of Montfau9on. I studied the theory without 

will dissipate by its details the illusion which leads us to look only years 
and months in the face, and to despise hours and days. I say no thin «: of 
the pleasure. It is a very great one to be able to review every epoch of 
our lives, and to place ourselves as we please in the midst of ail the 
better scenes in which we have performed a part ourselves, or seen parts 
performed by others. 

April 6, 1764. — I was called up this morning by Pavilliard and Hol- 
royd to stop the progress of a vexatious affair which passed at the ball 
after our departure. Guise, who has paid his court to Mademoiselle 
d'lllens for a long time past, beheld with great pain that Van Berken, a 
Hollander, appeared likely to supplant him. He replied to the polite at- 
tentions of his rival with rudeness, and at length, in a contest for the 
hand of Mademoiselle d'lllens, broke out against him m the most maU 
apropos manner in the world, and treated him before everybody as an im- 
pertineni, etc. I learnt from Pavilliard that Van Berken had sent him a 
message, and that, the reply of Guise not having been satisfactory, they 
were to meet at five o'clock in the evening. In despair at perceiving my 
friend engaged in an affair from which he could not emerge blameless, I 
ran to the house of M. Crousaz, in which Van Berken resided. I soon 
found that a slight explanation, together with some apology on the part 
of Guise, would disarm him ; and I proceeded to the latter with Holroyd, 
to induce him to give it. We have made him comprehend that the con- 
fession of a positive fault can never injure honor, and that his behavior to 
the ladies, as well as to Van Berken, was without excuse. I dictated for 
him a suitable billet, but without the least improper humility, which I 
carried to the Hollander. He gave up his intention on the spot, wrote a 
polite reply, and thanked me a thousand times for the part %vhich I had 
performed. In truth, this gentleman was not difficult. After dinner I 
saw our ladies, tc whom I also bore an apology. The mother will take no 
further notice of it to Guise, but Mademoiselle d'lllens is inconsolable at 
the blame which ])y this affair she may incur from the world. This nego- 
tiation has taken me up the whole day, but I could not l)etter employ a day 
than in saving the lives, possibly, of two persons, and in preserving the 
reputation of a friend. As to the rest, I have seen something more of 
ciiaracter. Guise is brave, sincere, and sensible, but of an nnpetuosity 
which is only the more dangerous for being suppressed on ordinary occa- 
sions. C is inconsequential as a child. De Salis exhibits an indif- 
ference which springs more from a deficiency of feeling than from an excess 
of reason. I have conceived a sincere friendship for Holroyd. He pos- 
sesses great good sense and honorable sentiments, with a heart the best 
disposed in the world. 



162 MEMOIRS OF 

attaining the practice of the art : nor should I complain 
of the intricacy of Greek abbreviations and Gothic 
alphabets, since every day, in a familiar language, I 
am at a loss to decipher the hieroglyphics of a female 
note. In a tranquil scene which revived the memory 
of my first studies, idleness would have been less 
pardonable : the public libraries of Lausanne and 
Geneva liberally supplied me with books; and if 
many hours were lost in dissipation^ many more were 
employed in literary labor. In the country, Horace 
and Virgil, Juvenal and Ovid, were my assiduous com- 
panions : but in town I formed and executed a plan of 
study for the. use of my Transalpine expedition : the 
topography of old Rome, the ancient geography of 
Italy, and the science of medals. 1. I diligently read, 
almost always with a pen in my hand, the elaborate 
treatises of Nardini, Donatus, etc., which fill the fourth 
volume of the Roman Antiquities of Graevius. 2. I next 
undertook and finished the Italia Antiqua of Cluverius, 
a learned native of Prussia, who had measured on foot 
every spot, and has compiled and digested every passage 
of the ancient writers. These passages in Greek or 
Latin authors I perused in the text of Cluverius, in two 
folio volumes : but I separately read the descriptions of 
Italy by Strabo, Pliny, and Pomponius Mela, the cata- 
logues of the Epic poets, the Itineraries of Wesseling's 
Antoninus, and the coasting voyage of Rutilius Numa- 
tianus } and I studied two kindred subjects in the Me- 
sures Itineraires of D'Anville, and the copious work of 
Bergier, Histoire des grands Cherains de I'Empire Ro- 
main. From these materials I formed a table of .roads 
and distances reduced to our English measure } filled a 
folio commonplace-book with my collections and re- 
marks on the geography of Italy ; and inserted in my 



EDWARD GIBBON. 163 

Journal many long and learned notes on the insulse and 
populousness of liome, the social war, the passage of 
the Alps by Hannibal, etc. 3. After glancing my eye 
over Addison's agreeable dialogues, I more seriously 
i-ead the great work of Ezekiel Spanheim, De Pr?e- 
stantia et Usu Numismatum, and applied with him the 
medals of the kings and emperors, the families and 
colonies, to the illustration of ancient history. And 
thus was I armed for my Italian journey.* 

I shall advance with rapid brevity in the narrative 

* Lausanne, April 17, 1764. — Guise and I gave an excellent din- 
ner, with plenty of wine, to Dupleix and several others. Alter dinner 
we stole off to pay some visits to the Grands, the Seigneux, and the 
D'lllens. My departure excites regret in many places ; in the mean 
time, a little wine and a degree of exhilaration, for which I cannot alto- 
gether account, induced me to play the fool to a miracle before those 
young ladies. 1 said a thousand silly things to them, and we embraced 
on taking leave amidst smiles and laughter. Mesery gave us a very good 
supper, with a part of the company of the morning, increased by Bour- 
geois and Pavilliard. This supper, the various adieus, and above all that 
of Pavilliard, whom I truly regard, together with the preparations for my 
departure, occupied me until two in the morning. 

I quit Lausanne with less regret than I did the first time. I now leave 
only acquaintances. It was the mistress and the friend whom I be- 
fore deplored. Moreover, I then beheld Lausanne with the inexperi- 
enced eyes of a young man, who had scarcely reached the reasonable 
period of his existence, and who judged without the means of comparison. 
At present, I perceive an ill-built town in the midst of a beautiful coun- 
try, enjoying peace and tranquillity, which its inhabitants mistake for 
liberty. An agreeable and well-educated people, who love society, 
which is very good here, and who admit foreigners with pleasure into 
their coteries, which would be much more pleasant if conversation did 
not give place to gaming. The women are handsome, and, notwithstand- 
ing the great liberty allowed them, very discreet. Possibly a little of 
their freedom may originate in the reasonable but uncertain idea of occa- 
sionally securing a foreign husband. The house of M. Mesery is delight- 
ful ; the frank and generous character of the husband, the graces of the 
wife, a cliarming situation, excellent cheer, the company of tlieir country- 
men, and perfect liberty, make this abode delightful to all the English. 
How 1 wish I could find such another in London. I regret leaving Ilol- 
royd, but he will soon follow. 



164 MEMOIRS OF 

of this tour, in wliich somewhat more than a year 
(April, 1764, to May, 1765) was agreeably employed. 
Content with tracing my line of march, and slightly 
touching on my personal feelings, I shall waive the 
minute investigation of the scenes which have been 
viewed by thousands, and described by hundreds of 
our modern travellers. Eome is the great object of 
our pilgrimage^ and, first, the journey, second, the 
residence, and, third, the return, will form the most 
proper and perspicuous division. 1. I climbed Mount 
Cenis, and descended into the plain of Piedmont, not 
on the back of an elephant, but on a light osier seat, 
in the hands of the dexterous and intrepid chairmen 
of the Alps. The architecture and government of 
Turin * presented the same aspect of tame and tire- 

* Turin, May 11, 1764. — I must say two woi'ds regarding Turin and 
the sovereign who reigns there. When we regard the slow and succes- 
sive accessions of the House of Savoy during eight hundred years, it 
must be admitted that its grandeur has been rather the work of prudence 
than of fortune. It supports itself in the same spirit as it has been 
created, — by wisdom, order, and economy. With the worst portion of 
the Alps, a plain fertile but very contracted, and a miserable island, 
which annually produces — shall I say? or costs? — him one hundred 
thousand livres, the King of Sardinia has obtained a place among the 
powers of Europe. He possesses strong places, an army which he has 
extended to iifty thousand men, and a numerous and brilliant court. In 
every department a spirit of activity is visible, regulated by an order 
which seeks both to make the most of advantageous circumstances, and 
to create them. Science, arts, buildings, manufactures, all are attended 
to ; even navigation is not neglected. The king intends to make a fine 
port of Nice, and has invited an English captain, Atkins, to employ him- 
self in his growing marine, which at present consists only of a vessel of 
fifty guns and a frigate of thirty. Both of them are Spanish prizes, pur- 
chased from the English. The frigate is the famous Hermione. 

Genoa, May 33, 1764. — We arrived at Genoa at half past eight in the 
morning. Our road was properly the bed of a great torrent ; but the 
hills around offered us the pleasing spectacle of a number of countrj^- 
houses, very well formed, and ornamented with fine architecture and 
painting. The coup d'oail of Genoa and its port appeared to me to be very 
line. After dinner we paid a visit to Mrs. MacCarlty, who is travelling 



EDWARD GIBBON. 165 

some unifonnity; but the court was regulated with 
decent and splendid economy ; and I was introduced 

with her son, and to Celcsia, with whom I liad become well acquainted 
in London. I found liis wife only at home, who received me in a very 
friendly manner. I am to dine there to-morrow, and to introduce Guise. 
Madame Celesia is very amiable ; her character is gentle, and she pos- 
sesses much wit and imagination. It seems to me that increasing years 
and a knowledge of the world have cured her of the slightly romantic 
turn in which she formerly indulged. 1 have always felt for her the 
esteem and compassion which she merits, and have experienced for her a 
f.iendship which borders upon tenderness. She is the daughter of the 
l)oet Mallet, and was driven by the tyranny of her mother-in-law into the 
arms of M. Celesia, envoy from Genoa to England, avIio married her, and 
soon after took her to his own country. She says that she is very happy, 
but that she shall always regret England. 

May 23. — We dined with the Celesias, who loaded me with proofs of 
attention, and even of friendship ; for I deem all that is done for Guise 
as a favor to myself. I discoursed a good deal wdth Celesia upon the 
affairs of the country, and, above all, upon the insurrection at Genoa in 
1746, and upon the revolts in Corsica. Here follow some of the circum- 
stances which have been told me : 1st. When the people made this effort, 
which was worthy of the Romans, they formed a council, called the As- 
sembly of the People, which continued for nearly a year : there were two 
independent departments in the state. The senate regulated as usual all 
foreign affairs, and almndoned to this assembly the domestic government. 
The latter remained charged with the guardianship of liberty, gave its 
orders under pain of death, and retained an executioner, who took his 
station on the steps of a church, near a gibbet, which enabled him 
promptly to obey orders. The most singular affair is, that the people, 
who manifested such a taste for the supreme authority, soon became dis- 
gusted with its own leaders, and by degrees allowed its assembly to de- 
cay, and restored the reins of government to the nobility without dispute 
and witliout conditions. 2dly. If the Genoese have irritated tlie Cor- 
sicans, they have since endeavored to reconcile them. Four years ago 
they despatched an illustrious deputation, furnished with full powers to 
grant the insurgents all which they n)iglit demand. This was fruitless. 
The independent spirits born during the revolt, and scarcely remember- 
ing that they had ever been subjects of Genoa, listened only to the violent 
counsels of Paoli, who alone knew how to govern this unruly people. 
This famous chief, whose manners are still a little ferocious, equals by 
his natural talents the great men of antiquity. M. Celesia can only com- 
pare him with Cromwell. Like Cromwell, ambition takes the precedence 
in his regard of riches, wliich he despises, and of pleasures, to which he 
lias never been accustomed; like him, the perpetual dictator of a new- 
born republic, he knows how to govern it by the shadow of a senate, of 



166 MEMOIRS OF 

to his Sardinian majesty Charles Emanuel, who, after 
the incomparahle Frederick, held the second rank 
(proximus longo tamen intervallo) among the kings 
of Europe. The size and populousness of Milan 
could not surprise an inhabitant of London ; hut the 
fancy is amused by a visit to the Boromean Islands, 
an enchanted palace, a work of the fairies in the midst 
of a lake encompassed with mountains, and far re- 
moved from the haunts of men. I was less amused 
by the -marble palaces of Genoa than by the recent 

■uhich he is the master ; and like him, lie knows how to inspire his troops 
with a religious fanaticism, which renders them invincible. The cur.es 
of the island are very useful instruments to him ; and his address in this 
respect is the more singular, as religion has neither been the motive nor 
the pretext for the revolt. The most considerate part of the Genoese 
senate is w^eary of a war which has cost great sacrifices and degradation. 
It preserves only the maritime places, the territory of which is often 
bounded hy their lines of fortification ; and it would abandon with pleas- 
ure the Corsicans to themselves, if it did not fear the King of Sardinia. 
It is certain that the Court of Vienna has manifested a desire to acquire 
the island for the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and possibly, hut for the jeal- 
ousy of France, might have obtained it. 

June 3. — I have passed the whole morning at home. Happy moments 
of repose, of which we feel not the value until we have lived in a crowd ! 
I have purchased the History of the Revolutions of Genoa. The style 
is not had, without being Hiat of Vertot ; and the order is clear, without 
heing able. There are very few abbreviators to whom Velleius Paterculus 
has bequeathed his secret of exhiljiting his subject in grand masses. But 
in a political history I ought to be anxious for the most accurate ideas of 
the constitution of Genoa, of its laws, and its manners. 

We dined with Celesia, who is always ill. At eight o'clock in the 
evening his father-in-law presented us to the doge, Brignoletti. He is 
an old man, very fat, with not the most intellectual air in the world. He 
know^s a little Trench, but he spoke to us chiefly in Italian. He received 
us politely, but with a mixture of dignity which was in tolerable accord- 
ance with his serenity. His serenityship receives five thousand livres, 
and expends at least twenty-five thousand, for the pleasure of residing in 
a wretched house, out of which he cannot move without the permission 
of the senate, of being clothed with scarlet from head to foot, and of 
being waited upon by twelve page's of sixty years of age, habited in Span- 
ish liveries. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 167 

memorials of her deliverance (in December, 1746) 
from the Austrian tyranny ; and I took a military 
survey of every scene of action within the enclosure of 
her double walls. My steps were detained at Parma 
and Modena by the precious relics of the Farnese 
and Este collections : but, alas ! the far greater part 
had been already transported, by inheritance or pur- 
chase, to Naples and Dresden. By the road of Bo- 
logna and the Apennine, I at last reached Florence, 
where I reposed from June to September, during the 
heat of the summer months.* In the gallery, and 

* Florence, June 29, 1764. — This day was celebrated the festival 
of St. John, the protector of Floreace. At seven in the morning we 
repaired to the Square of the Grand Duke, in order to witness the ceie- 
niony of the presentation of the homages, etc. At last the tower of 
St John advanced, more lofty and decorated than the others. The saint 
liiniself crowned the pinnacle. The niches at the sides were filled with 
various other saints, among whom St. Sebastian migiit be distinguishc;d, 
bound to a pillar. All the saints were living men, who performed their 
parts with great propriety, except that, as the situation of St. John him- 
self was a little precarious, they substituted a wooden figure for the boy 
who represented him on former occasions. This tower was followed by 
the Barbary horses, which raced in the afternoon, etc., etc. 

In the afternoon we witnessed the race of the Barbary coursers ; it 
took place in the Corso, a large and fine street, but whicb in many places 
is neither wide nor straight enough. We attended in the suite of our 
minister. Sir Horace Mann, at six o'clock in the evening. The Corso was 
already filled with many hundred carriages, which proceeded slowly, in 
order to add to the pomp of the grandest gala of Florence. It must be 
admitted that the equipages and dresses were magnificent and tasteful, 
and that altogether they formed the finest coup d'ccil that can be im- 
agined. In half an hour the carriages disappeared, and everyone repaired 
to his window, his balcony, or his scaffold. We followed our minister to 
the lodge of the government, wbich was filled with all who were of the 
most distinction in Florence. We were received with the utmost polite- 
ness. By this change of scene the spectacle, became less brilliant, but 
more singular, by the innumerable crowd of every rank who Ihied the 
two sides of a grand street, while the street itself was perfectly clear. It 
must be observed that everything took place without confusion, and that 
a handful of grenadiers sufficed to retain this vast assemblage in perfect 
order. The horses then passed along in procession to th^ lists ; they 



168 MEMOIRS OF 

especially in the Tribune, I first acknowledged, at the 
feet of the Venus of Medicis, that the chisel may 
dispute the pre-eminence with the pencil ; a truth in 
the fine arts which cannot on this side of the Alps 
be felt or understood.* At home I had taken some 

amounted to fifteen, decorated with ribbons of different colors, and were 
conducted by grooms in the liveries of tlieir owners. Tiiey appeared in 
general very fine, but, although denominated Barbs, they might be of any 
country: there was in particular an old English horse, tM^enty-three years 
old, which, however, usually bore away the prize. It was easy to dis- 
cover, by the acclamations of the people, which were the favorites. When 
they arrived at the starting-post, they were ranged as equally as possible, 
with a cord drawn before them, which being suddenly dropped, they 
started. 1 saw them pass with a swiftness which the impetuosity natural 
to the horse, animated by the goad or spur (a sort of spiked ball, which 
strikes tlieir sides as they run), sufficiently explained to me. I was, 
however, quite astonished at the composure with which they proceeded 
to the goal, as well as if mounted by the most able horsemen. We soon 
lost sight of them, and all the spectators fixed their eyes on the clock of 
the cathedral, in order to read the name of the conqueror in the illumi- 
nated signal which would be repeated there, and answer to the number 
of the victor horse. As if to dally the longer with public impatience, it 
happened that the numbers passed by until they reached thirteen, when 
the Prince Neri announced to the people (whose curiosity held them com- 
pletely silent) that the colt of the Chevalier Alessandria had won the 
prize. In an instant this silence gave way to loud acclamations from 
thirty thousand spectators. Before the prize was delivered to the con- 
queror, it received a benediction with much ceremony in the Church of 
St. John. As well as I am able to judge, the horses finished their career 
of two miles in five minutes. The Great Devil (the English horse) ar- 
rived the second, and almost at the same moment as the first. 

Considering only the swiftness of the horses, our races exceedingly ex- 
cel these. On the other hand, the antiquity of the institution, the ardor 
of an entire population, who assist at them, the intervention of the prince, 
and even of religion, give a much more majestic air to the latter. It is 
perceptible that the Florentines cherish this spectacle as the sole vestige 
of their ancient liberty ; it is a momentary animation which carries away 
all minds; and, since the games of the ancients, it is probably the only 
spectacle of a public nature in which the whole state unites to receive 
amusement by the care and under the sanction of its magistracy. 

* July 16. — We have made our eighth visit to the gallery, etc., etc., 
etc. I am about to speak only of the valuable statues and antique busts, 
placed alternately in such a manner that a statue is always accompanied 



EDWARD GIBBON. 169 

lessons of Italian ; on the spot I read, with a learned 
native, the classics of the Tuscan idiom; but the 

by two busts. Tlie latter probably form the most precious contents of 
the gallery, since they supply a complete sequence of all the emperors, 
from Julius and Augustus Coesar to Caracalla, without reckoning several 
of the successors of the latter, a great many empresses, with various 
busts which have been assigned to the philosophers and poets of Greece 
on the strength of certain vague and indetiuite descriptions of their per- 
sons, which have been left us by the ancients. It affords a lively pleas- 
ure to follow the progress and decline of the arts, and to run through this 
course of original portraits of the masters of the world. Their features 
are more observal)le here than upon their medals, the held for which is 
too small. I allow that it is by the aid of medals that we recognize them 
in this state ; I therefore wish that it was the practice to place a drawer 
full of these medals in the pedestal of every bust, which would enable the 
curious to derive much pleasure from tlie comparison. To all this acces- 
sory merit, many of these busts add that which is derived from the great 
skill of the artist. Without reviewing the wliole of them like Cochin, I 
will observe upon those which l)y some singularity have attracted me. 
1. Julius Caesar. It is remarkable. All his features are contracted, and 
the air of the countenance bears the most striking cliaracter of old age 
and decay ; and we can scarcely comprehend that it is the bust of a man 
who died in his tifty-sixth year. I have not discovered the baldness of 
his head, although his forehead appears a little bare of hair ; neither 
liave I observed the crown of laurel beneath which the hero concealed a 
defect at wliich he was weak enough to blush. It is true that most of 
the heads of the men in this series are without ornament. 2. Cicero. 
A long neck, a thin face with many Avrinkles, a complexion a little yellow 
(which proceeds from the color of the marble), all announce the strength 
and the labor of the mind ratlier than that of the body. The sculptor 
has placed a pea upon the left cheek, which, as it is pleasingly done, is 
merely an agreeable mark that serves to point him out. But although the 
name was hereditary, the mark (cicer) was not. 3. x\grippa. This is 
quite a contrast to Cicero, although possibly as line in its Mav. It is of a 
grand and bold character. A face ample and square, with marked and 
prominent features ; large eyes, but seated deeply in the head ; hair 
which covers half the forehead, — all inspire the idea of force and vigor, 
and present a whole which is rather terrible than agreeable. He is 
placed among the emperors whom he assisted to seat upon the throne of 
the world. 4. Sappho. Sculpture was too imperfect, in the sixth cen- 
tury before Christ, to allow us to regard the head of this celebrated 
woman as an oiiginal: I am still less inclined to believe it, because 
Sappho, who shone more in mind than person, certainly possessed not 
this tine oval visage, although a little rounded by the plumpness whicii 



170 MEMOIRS OF 

shortness of my time^ and the use of the French 
language, prevented my acquiring any facihty of 

the sculptor has here hestowed upon it. This piece possesses great 
beauty. 5. Caligula. This bust, which is of a free and bold execution, 
acquires additional value by the perfect and exact resemblance which it 
bears to the medals of this tyrant. For a man who died in his thirtieth 
year, his features are extremely mature. 6. Nero. There is much ex- 
pression here, but of a nature which is somewhat confused. Ought T to 
say it, and to say it here ? Nero has never shocked me so much as Tibe- 
rius, Caligula, and Domitian. He had many vices, but he was not with- 
out virtues. I perceive in his history but few traits of studied wicked- 
ness. He was cruel, but it was rather from fear than inclination. 7* 
Seneca. A most esteemed production, and worthy to be so. His flesh- 
deserted skin appears merely to cover bones and muscles, which are 
rendered with extraordinary truth, while his veins are conduits which 
seem destitute of blood. The whole character of this bust announces an 
aged man, and possibly an aged man expiring. 8. Galba. A very fine 
bust. 9. Otho. This bust possesses no other merit than that of rarity. 
I am surprised at its preservation. A thousand accidents may bury and 
preserve a piece of money, but how has it happened that any one would 
run a risk to preserve the odious bust of this shadow of an emperor ? 10. 
Vitellius. The head of this stupid beast and glutton is overloaded with 
flesh. It is also remarkable that the statues of this emperor are not 
more uncommon. I suppose Vespasian despised him too much to destroy 
them. 11. Vespasian. If nature ought to be the model of sculptors, 
this head is of marvellous beauty. Nothing can be more natural than 
the contour, nothing more gracious than the air, at once animated, tran- 
quil, and majestic. It is truly a human countenance; and, although 
rather ugly than handsome, it is good and interesting. I am persuaded 
that the resemblance was striking. 12. Berenice. The hairof this queen 
is curled very skilfully, yet disposed with a great appearance of negli- 
gence. If she was not more handsome than she is represented here, it is 
difficult to comprehend the passion of Titus. 13. Domitia. The manner 
in which her hair is collected on her forehead, in a number of little de- 
tached curls, gives them, according to Cochin, very much the appearance 
of a sponge. We paused at the termination of the Twelve Caesars, a di- 
vision which originated with Suetonius rather than with reason. The six 
Caesars would have been more natural. 

June Yl.- — We have made our ninth visit to the gallery, and here 
follows the remainder of the busts which we have reviewed. 14. Trajan. 
An easy and natural bust. I have discovered in the physiognomy a sa- 
tirical smile, which much surprises me. The head is turned a great deal 
on one side ; but I cannot recollect a single bust of which the head is 
placed in a regular attitude. The sculpiors have properly thought that a 



EDWARD GIBBON. 171 

speaking ; and I was a silent spectator in the con- 
versations of our envoy. Sir Horace Mann, whose 

slight deviation from the right line which is traced by nature gives more 
of grace and soul to their figures. 15. Hadrian. This bust is very tine. 
We here behold, agreeably to the testimony of historians, that tliis prince 
was the first who allowed his beard to grow. , In the mean lime he had 
it cut occasionally, and did not pique himself upon carrying that long, 
pendent, and well-nourished beard, which formed the great pride of the 
philosophers of this age. With respect to the hair, the first emperors 
wore it short, dressed with very little care, and falling upon the forehead. 
Upon the bust of Otho we perceive the hair dressed in great curls in 
front, a fashion of which that prince was the inventor. All this regards 
the emperors only. Seneca, who affected philosophy, has much hair and 
a beard. 16. Antinous. The bust of this minion of Hadrian is very fine. 
The countenance is elegantly formed, with a mixture of force and sweet- 
ness. The shoulders, the bosom, and the paps are treated with peculiar 
softness. The finest embonpoint injures not, in this instance, the grace 
of the contour. This bust, which is larger than life, is altogether antique, 
a rare and almost unique circumstance. The whole, or most of them, 
liave the head alone antique, of which some part has generally been re- 
stored, and the nose has almost always been broken. It is with Antinous 
that the eyes of the busts begin to exhibit eyeballs, although in this in* 
stance scarcely perceptible. It is impossil)le to conceive to what an 
extent the eyeball gives life and expression to the whole, and animates 
every feature. It was right that this aid should be afforded to sculpture, 
when it toucbed upon the period of its decline. 1?. Antoninus Pius. It 
abounds with truth of expression, especially the upper part of the face, 
the forehead, and the eyes. Antoninus adds to his l)eard a pcir of small 
curled mustaches. 18. Marcus Aurelius. There are three of these; 
that which represents him young is the best. We may remark in all this 
family the same style of sculpture, that is to say, greater l)eauty of detail, 
W'tW less striking tout ensemble. 19. Annius Verus. It is a young 
child, and truly a chef-d'oeuvre A small round face, sparkling with the 
graces of joy and innocence. We should never be weary of beholding it. 
20. A bust much larger than life. This is a face young, although fully 
formed, and very handsome ; it lifts up its eyes towards heaven with the 
finest and strongest expression of grief and indignation. It is said to be 
Alexander about to expire. Could the assertion be adequately authen- 
ticated, we might flatter ourselves with possessing an unique production 
from the hand of Lysippus, the only sculptor whom Alexander allowed to 
carve him in marble. In this chef-d' centre of nobleness, simplicity, and 
expression, there is notliing which contradicts the age of Alexander, or 
the opinion that it might be formed by Lysippus. 21. Pertinax. This 
appears to me fine. 22. Clodius Albinus. It is of alabaster ; and the 



172 MEMOIRS OF 

most serious business was that of entertaining the 
English at his hospitable table. After leaving Flor- 
ence I compared the solitude of Pisa with the industry 
of Lucca and Leghorn, and continued my journey 
through Sienna to Kome, where I arrived in the begin- 
ning of October. 2. My temper is not very suscepti- 
ble of enthusiasm, and the enthusiasm which I do not 
feel I have ever scorned to affect. But, at the distance 
of twenty-five years, I can neither forget nor express 
the strong emotions which agitated my mind as I first 
approached and entered the eternal city. After a sleep- 
less night 1 trod, with a lofty step, the ruins of the 
Forum ; each memorable spot where Eomulus stood, 
or Tully spoke, or C^sar fell, was at once present to 
my eye ; and several days of intoxication were lost or 
enjoyed before I could descend to a cool and minute 
investigation. My guide was Mr. Byers, a Scotch an- 
tiquary of experience and taste ; but in the daily labor 
of eighteen weeks the powers of attention were some- 
times fatigued, till I was myself qualified, in a last re- 
view, to select and study the capital works of ancient 
and modern art. Six weeks were borrowed for my tour 
of Naples, the most populous of cities relative to its 

merit of good workmanship is combined with that of the greatest rarity. 
When we call to mind that this sliadow of royalty was followed by the 
reign of twenty years of a cruel and implacable enemy, the cause of this 
scarcity is easily understood. 33. Septimus Severus. It is good, but I 
prefer the style to the execution of this bust. 24. Geta. The represen- 
tation of this child is very pretty, but it appears more mature than An- 
nius Verus. 25. Caracalla. Good, but in my eyes a little dry. It was 
now that the Roman sculpture declined, together with the architecture^ 
to which it is probably more closely allied than with painting. I believe 
that these last pieces are by artists who still existed of the golden age 
of the Antonines, and who formed no pupils for the iron one of the Se- 
veruses, under whom the government became truly military and despotic. 
The last busts in the series are, 26, Gallienus, and 27, Eliogabalus. The 
whole of the busts iu thj galleriiis amount to ninety-two. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 173 

size, whose luxurious inhabitants seem to dwell on the 
confines of paradise and hell-fire. I was presented to 
the boy-king by our new envoy, Sir William Hamil- 
ton, who, wisely diverting his correspondence from the 
Secretary of State to the Eoyal Society and British 
Museum, has elucidated a country of such inestimable 
value to the naturalist and antiquarian. On my return 
I fondly embraced, for the last time, the miracles of 
Eome ; but I departed without kissing the foot of 
Eezzonico (Clement XIII.), who neither possessed the 
wit of his predecessor Lambertini, nor the virtues of his 
successor Ganganelli. 3. In my pilgrimage from Rome 
to Loretto, I again crossed the Apennine; from the 
coast of the Adriatic I traversed a fruitful and populous 
country, which could alone disprove the paradox of 
Montesquieu, that modern Italy is a desert. Without 
adopting the exclusive prejudice of the natives, I sin- 
cerely admire the paintings of the Bologna school. I 
hastened to escape from the sad solitude of Ferrara, 
which in the age of Caesar was still more desolate. 
The spectacle of Venice afforded some hours of aston- 
ishment ; the University of Padua is a dying taper ; 
but Verona still boasts her amphitheatre ; and his 
native Vicenza is adorned by the classic architecture 
of Palladio : the road of Lombardy and Piedmont 
(did Montesquieu find them without inhabitants f ) led 
me back to Milan, Turin, and the passage of Mount 
Cenis, where I again crossed the Alps on my way to 
Lyons. 

The use of foreign travel has been often debated as 
a general question ; but the conclusion must be finally 
applied to the character and circumstances of each in- 
dividual. With the education of boys, ivkere or how 
they may pass over some juvenile years with the least 



174 MEMOIRS OF 

mischief to themselves or others, I have no concern. 
But after supposing the previous and, indispensable 
requisites of age, judgment, a competent knowledge 
of men and books, and a freedom from domestic preju- 
dices, I will briefly describe the qualifications which I 
deem most essential to a traveller. He should be en- 
dowed with an active, indefatigable vigor of mind and 
body, which can seize every mode of conveyance, and 
support with a careless smile every hardship of the 
road, the weather, or the inn. The benefits of foreign 
travel will correspond with the degrees of these quali- 
fications ; but in this sketch those to whom I am known 
wnll not accuse me of framing my own panegyric. It 
was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat 
musing amidst the ruins of the capitol, while the bare- 
footed friars were singing vespers in the Temple of 
Jupiter,* that the idea of writing the decline and fall 
of the city first started to my Tuind. But my original 
plan was circumscribed to the decay of the city rather 
than of the empire : and, though my reading and re- 
flectioDS began to point towards that object, some years 
elapsed, and several avocations intervened, before I 
was seriously engaged in the executionof that laborious 
work. 

I had not totally renounced the southern provinces 
of France, but the letters which I found at Lyons were 
expressive of some impatience. Eome and Italy had 
satiated my curious appetite, and I was now ready to 
return to the peaceful retreat of my family and books. 
After a happy fortnight, I reluctantly left Paris, em- 
barked at Calais, again landed at Dover, after an in- 
terval of two years and five months, and hastily drove 
through the summer dust and solitude of London. On 
* Now the Church of the Zocolants, or Franciscan friars. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 175 

the 25tli of June, 1765, I arrived at my father's house ; 
and the five years and a half between my travels and 
my father's death (1770) are the portion of my life 
which I passed with the least enjoyment, and which I 
remember with the least satisfaction. Every spnng 
I attended the monthly meeting and exercise of the 
militia at Southampton ; and by the resignation of my 
father and the death of Sir Thomas Worsley, I was 
successively promoted to the rank of major and lieu- 
tenant-colonel commandant ; but I was each year more 
disgusted with the inn, the wine, the company, and the 
tiresome repetition of annual attendance and daily ex- 
ercise. At home, the economy of the family and farm 
still maintained the same creditable appearance. My 
connection with Mrs. Gibbon was mellowed into a 
warm and solid attachment; my growing years abol- 
ished the distance that might yet remain between a 
parent and a son ; and my behavior satisfied my father, 
who was proud of the success, however imperfect in 
his own lifetime, of my literary talents. 

The renewal, or perhaps the improvement, of my 
English life was imbittered by the alteration of my own 
feelings. At the age of twenty-one I was, in my proper 
station of a youth, delivered from the yoke of educa- 
tion, and delighted with the comparative state of liberty 
and affluence. My filial obedience was natural and 
easy } and in the gay prospect of futurity, my ambition 
did not extend beyond the enjoyment of my books, my 
v^ leisure, and my patrimonial estate, undisturbed by the 
cares of a fiimily and the duties of a profession. But 
in the militia I was armed with power ; in my travels 
I was exempt from control ; and as I approached, as I 
gradually passed my thirtieth year, I began to feel the 
desire of being master in my own house. The most 



176 MEMOIRS OF 

gentle authority will sometimes frown without reason, 
the most cheerful submission will sometimes murmur 
without cause ; and such is the law of our imperfect 
nature that we must either command or obey^ — that 
our personal liberty is supported by the obsequiousness 
of our ow^n dependents. While so many of my ac- 
quaintance w^ere married or in Parliament, or advancing 
with a rapid step in the various roads of honor and for- 
tune, I stood alone, immovable and insigniiicant ; for 
after the monthly meeting of 1770, 1 had even withdrawn 
myself from the militia by the resignation of an empty 
and barren commission. My temper is not susceptible 
of envy, and the view of successful merit has always 
excited my warmest applause. The miseries of a va- 
cant life were never known to a man whose hours were 
insufficient for the inexhaustible pleasure of study. 
But I lamented that at the proper age I had not em- 
braced the lucrative pursuits of the law or of trade, the 
chances of civil office or India adventure, or even the 
fat slumbers of the church ; and my repentance became 
more lively as the loss of time was more irretrievable. 
Experience showed me the use of grafting my private 
consequence on the importance of a great professional 
body, the benefits of those firm connections w^hich are 
connected by hope and interest, by gratitude and emu- 
lation, by the mutual exchange of service and favors. 
From the emoluments of a profession I might have 
derived an ample fortune, or a competent income, in- 
stead of being stinted to the same narrow allowance, 
to be increased only by an event which I sincerely 
deprecated. The progress and the knowledge of our 
. domestic disorders aggravated my anxiety, and I began 
to apprehend that I might be left in my old age with- 
out the fruits either of industry or inheritance. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 177 

In the first summer after my return, whilst I enjoyed 
at Beriton the society of my friend Deyverdun, our 
daily conversations expatiated over the field of ancient 
and modern literature; and we freely discussed my 
studies, my first Essay, and my future projects. The 
Decline and Fall of Rome I still contemplated at an 
aw^ul distance ; but the two historical designs which 
had balanced my choice were submitted to his taste ; 
and in the parallel between the revolutions of Florence 
and Switzerland, our common partiality for a country 
which was his by birth, and mine by adoption, in- 
clined the scale in favor of the latter. According to 
the plan which was soon conceived and digested, I 
embraced a period of two hundred years, from the as- 
sociation of the three peasants of the Alps to the plenti- 
tude and prosperity of the Helvetic body in the sixteenth 
century. I should have described the deliverance and 
victory of the Swiss, who have never shed the blood 
of their tyrants but in a field of battle ; the laws and 
manners of the confederate states ; the splendid trophies 
of the Austrian, Burgundian, and Italian w^ars ; and the 
wisdom of a nation which, after some sallies of martial 
adventure, has been content to guard the blessings of 
peace with the sword of freedom. 

" Manus hsec inimica tyrannis 
Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietum.'* 

My judgment, as well as my enthusiasm, was satisfied 
with the glorious theme j and the assistance of Dey- 
verdun seemed to remove an inseparable obstacle. The 
French or Latin memorials, of w^hich I was not igno- 
rant, are inconsiderable in number and weight ; but in 
the perfect acquaintance of my friend with the German 
language I found the key of a more valuable collection. 



178 MEMOIRS OF 

The most necessary books were procured; he traiis- 
lated, for my use, the folio volume of Schillmg, a copious 
and contemporary relation of the war of Burgundy ; we 
read and marked the most interesting parts of the great 
chronicle of Tschudi ; and by his labor, or that of an 
inferior assistant, large extracts were made from the 
History of Lauffer and the Dictionary of Lew ; yet such 
was the distance and delay, that two years elapsed in 
these preparatory steps ; and it was late in the third 
summer (1767) before I entered, with these slender 
materials, on the more agreeable task of composition. 
A specimen of my History, the first book, was read the 
following winter in a literary society of foreigners in 
London ; and as the author was unknown I listened, 
without observation, to the free strictures and unfavor- 
able sentence of my judges.* The momentary sensa- 

* Mr. Hume seems to have a different opinion of this work. 
From Mr. Hume to Mu. Gibbon. 

Sir: — It is hut a few days aj^o since M. Doyverdun put your manu- 
script into my hands, and 1 have perused it with great pleasure and sat- 
isfaction. I have only one objection, derived from the language in which 
it is written. Why do you compose in French, and carry fagots into the 
wood, as Horace says with regard to Romans who wrote in Greek ? I 
grant that you have a like motive to those Romans, and adopt a language 
much more generally diffused than your native tongue. But have you 
not remarked the fate of tliose two ancient languages in following ages ? 
The Latin, though then less celebrated and confined to more narrow 
limits, has in some measure outlived the Greek, and is now more generally 
understood by men of letters. Let the French, therefore, triumph in the 
present diffusion of their tongue. Our solid and increasing establishments 
in America, where we need less dread the inundation of barbarians, 
promise a superior stability and duration to the English language. 

Your use of the French tongue has also led you into a style more poet- 
ical and figurative, and more highly colored, than our language seems to 
' admit of in historical productions ; for such is the practice of French 
writers, particularly the more recent ones, who illuminate their pictures 
more than custom will permit us. On the wliole, your history, in my 
opinion, is written with spirit and judgment : and I exliort you veiy 



EDWARD GIBBON. 179 

tion was painful ; but their condemnation was ratified 
by my cooler thoughts. I delivered my imperfect 
sheets to the flames,* and forever renounced a design 
in which some expense, much labor, and more thne 
had been so vainly ccmsumed. I cannot regret the 
loss of a slight and superficial essay ; for such the work 
must have been in the hands of a stranger, uninformed 
by the scholars and statesmen, and remote from the 
libraries and archives, of the Swiss republics. My 
ancient habits, and the presence of Deyverdun, en- 
couraged me to write in French for the Continent of 
Europe; but I was conscious myself that my style, 
above prose and below poetry, degenerated into a ver- 
bose and turgid declamation. Perhaps I may impute 
the failure to the injudicious choice of a foreign lan- 
guage. Perhaps I may suspect that the language 
itself is ill adapted to sustain the vigor and dignity of 
an important narrative. But if France, so rich in 
literary merit, had produced a great original historian, 
his genius would have formed and fixed the idiom to 
the proper tone, the peculiar mode of historical elo- 
quence. 

It was in search of some liberal and lucrative em- 
ployment that my friend Deyverdun had visited Eng- 
land. His remittances from home were scanty and 

earnestly to continue it. Tlie objections that occurred to me on reading 
it were so frivolous, that 1 shall not trouble you with them, and should. I 
believe, have a difficulty to recollect them. 
1 am, with great esteem, sir. 

Your most obedient and most humble servant, 

DAVID HUME. 
London, 24-th of Oct., 1767. 

* He neglected to burn them. He left at Sheffield Place the introduc- 
tion, or first book, in forty-three pages folio, written in a very small hand, 
besides a considerat)le nutnber of notes. Mr. Hume's opinion, expressed 
in the letter in the last note^ perhaps may justify the publication of it. S. 



180 MEMOIRS OF 

precarious. My purse was always open, but it was 
often empty; and I bitterly felt the want of riches 
and power, which might have enabled me to correct 
the errors of his fortune. His Welshes and qualification 
solicited the station of the travelling governor of some 
wealthy pupil } but every vacancy provoked so many 
eager candidates, that for a long time I struggled with- 
out success } nor was it till after much application that 
I could even place him as a clerk in the office of the 
Secretary of State. In a residence of several years he 
never acquired the just pronunciation and familiar use 
of the English tongue, but he read our most difficult 
authors with ease and taste : his critical knowledge of 
our language and poetry was such as few foreigners 
have possessed ; and few of our countrymen could en- 
joy the theatre of Shakespeare and Glarrick with more 
exquisite feeling and discernment. The consciousness 
of his own strength, and the assurance of my aid, em- 
boldened him to imitate the example of Dr. Maty, 
whose Journal Brittannique was esteemed and re- 
gretted ; and to improve his model by uniting with the 
transactions of literature a philosophical view of the 
arts and manners- of the British nation. Our journal 
for the year 1767, under the title of ^^ Memoires Litte- 
raires de la Grande Bretagne,'^ was soon finished and 
sent to the press. For the first article, Lord Lyttelton^s 
History of Henry II., I must own myself responsible; 
but the public has ratified my judgment of that volumi- 
nous w^ork, in which sense and learning are not illu- 
minated by a ray of genius. The next specimen was 
the choice of my friend, the ^'Bath Guide," a light 
and whimsical performance, of local, and even verbal, 
pleasantry. I started at the attempt : he smiled at my 
fears: his courage was justified by success: and a mas- 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 181 

ter of both languages will applaud the curious felicity 
with which he has transfused into French prose the 
spirit, and even the humor, of the English verse. It 
is not my wish to deny how deeply I was interested in 
the Memoii-es, of which I need not surely be ashamed ; 
but at the distance of more than twenty years, it would 
be impossible for me to ascertain the respective shares 
of the two associates. A long and intimate communi- 
cation of ideas had cast our sentiments and style in the 
same mould. In our social labors we composed and 
corrected by turns ; and the praise which I might hon- 
estly bestow would fall perhaps on some article or 
passage most properly my own. A sec(nid volume (for 
the year 1768) was published of these Memoires. I 
will presume to say that their merit was superior to 
their reputation ; but it is not less true that they were 
productive of more reputation than emolument. They 
introduced my friend to the protection, and myself to 
the acquaintance of the Earl of Chesterfield, whose 
age and infirmities secluded him from the world ; and 
of Mr. David Hume, who was under-secretary to the 
office in which Deyverdun was more humbly em- 
ployed. The former accepted a dedication (April 12, 
1769), and reserved the author for the future educa- 
tion of his suc<:*essor: the latter enriched the Journal 
with a reply to Mr. Walpole's Historical Doubts, 
which he afterwards shaped into the form of a note. 
The materials of the third volume were almost com- 
pleted, when I recommended Deyverdun as governor to 
Sir Richard Worsley, a youth, the son of my old lieu- 
tenant-colonel, who was lately deceased. They set for- 
ward on their travels ; nor did they return to England 
till some time after my father's death. 

My next publication was an accidental sally of love 



182 MEMOIRS OF 

and resentment; of my reverence for modest genius, 
and my aversion for insolent pedantry. The sixth 
hook of the ^neid is the most pleasing and perfect 
composition of Latin' poetry. The descent of ^^neas 
and the Sihyl to the infernal regions, to the world 
of spirits, expands an awful and boundless prospect, 
from the nocturnal gloom of the Cumaean grot, 

" Ibaiit obscuri sola sub nocte per umbram/' 
to the meridian brightness of the Elysian fields, 

" Largior hie campos sether et lumine vestit 
Purpureo," 

from the dreams of simple nature to the dreams, 
alas ! of Egyptian theology, and the philosophy of the 
Greeks. But the final dismission of the hero through 
the ivory gate, whence 

" Falsa ad ccelam raittunt insomnia manes/* 

seems to dissolve the whole enchantment, and leaves 
the reader in a state of cold and anxious scepticism. 
This most lame and impotent conclusion has been 
variously imputed to the taste or irreligion of Virgil ; 
but, according to the more elaborate interpretation of 
Bishop Warburton, the descent to hell is not a false 
but a mimic scene, which represents the initiation of 
^neas, in the character of a lawgiver, to the Eleu- 
sinian mysteries. This hypothesis, a singular chapter 
in the Divine Legation of Moses, had been admitted 
by many as true ; it was praised by all as ingenious ; 
nor had it been exposed in a space of thirty years to 
a fair and critical discussi(m. The lea^rning and the 
abilities of the author had raised him to a just emi- 
nence ; but he reigned the dictator and the tyrant of 
the world of literature. The real merit of Warburton 



EDWAKD GIBBON. 183 

was degraded by the pride and presumption with 
which he pronounced his infallible decrees; in his 
polemic writings he lashed his antagonists without 
mercy or moderation; and his servile flatterers (see 
the base and malignant essay on the Delicacy of 
Friendship),* exalting the assaulted master-critic far 
above Aristotle and Longinus, assaulted every modest 
dissenter who refused to consult the oracle and to 
adore the idol. In a land of liberty such despotism 
must provoke a general opposition, and the zeal of 
opposition is seldom candid or impartial. A late 
professor of Oxford (Dr. Louth), in a pointed and 
polished epistle (August 31^ 17'45), defended himself, 
and attacked the bishop ; and, whatsoever might be 
the merits of an insignificant controversy, his victory 
was clearly established by the sileut confusion of AVar- 
burton and his slaves. I too, without any private 
ofience, was ambitious of breaking a lance against the 
giant \s shield ; and in the beginning of the year 1770 
my Critical Observations on the Sixth Book of the 
JEueid were sent, without my name, to the press. 
In this short essay, my first English publication, I 
aimed my strokes against the person and the hypoth- 
esis of Bishop Warburton. I proved, at least to my 
own satisfaction, that the ancient lawgivers did not 
invent the mysteries ; and that iEneas was never in- 
vested with the office of lawgiver ; that there is not 
any argument, any circumstance, which can melt a 
fable into allegory, or remove the scene from the 
Lake Avernus to the Temple of Ceres ; that such a 
wild supposition is equally injurious to the poet and 
the man ; that if Yirgil was not initiated, he could not, 
if he were, he would not, reveal the secrets of the ini- 

* By Hurd, afterwards Bishop of Worcester. 



184 MEMOIRS OF 

tiation ; that the anathema of Horace (vetabo qui 
Cereris sacrum vulgarity etc.) at once attests his own 
ignorance and the innocence of his friend. As the 
Bishop of Gloucester and his party maintained a dis- 
creet silence, my critical disquisition was soon lost 
among the pamphlets of the day ; but the public cold- 
ness was overbalanced to my feelings by the weighty 
approbation of the last and best editor of Virgil, Pro- 
fessor Heyne of Gottingen, who acquiesces in my con- 
futation, and styles the unknown author, doctus .... 
et elegantissimus Britannus.^^ But I cannot resist the 
temptation of transcribing the favorable judgment of 
Mr. Hayley, himself a poet and a scholar: ^^An 
intricate hypothesis, twisted into a long and labored 
chain of quotation and argument, the Dissertation on 
the Sixth Book of Virgil remained some time unre- 

futed At length a superior, but anonymous critic 

arose, who, in one of the most judicious and spirited 
essays that our nation has produce.d on a point of 
classical literature, completely overturned this ill- 
founded edifice, and exposed the arrogance and futility 
of its assuming architect." He even condescends to 
justify an acrimony of style which had been gently 
blamed by the more unbiassed German, ^^Paullo 
acrius quam relis perstrinxit." * But I cannot forgive 
myself the contemptuous treatment of a man w^ho, 
with all his faults, was entitled to my esteem ] f and 

* The editor of the Warburtonian tracts, Dr. Parr (p. 192) considers 
the allegorical interpretation " as completely refuted in a most clear, ele- 
gant, and decisive work of criticism ; which could not, indeed, derive 
authority from the greatest name, but to which the greatest name might 
with propriety have been affixed." 

t The Divine Legation of Moses is a monument, already crumbling in 
the dust, of the vigor and weakness of the human mind. If Warburton's 
new argument proved anything, it would be a demonstration against the 
legislator who left his people without the knowledge of a future state. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 185 

I can less forgive, in a personal attack, the cowardly 
concealment of my name and character. 

In the fifteen years between my Essay on the Study 
of Literature and the first volume of the Decline and 
Fall (1761-1776) this criticism on Warburton, and 
some articles in the Journal, were my sole publi- 
cations. It is more especially incumbent on me to 
mark the employment or to confess the waste of 
time from my travels to my father's death, an inter- 
val in which I was not diverted by any professional 
duties from the labors and pleasures of a studious 
life. 1. As soon as I was released from the fruitless 
task of the Swiss revolutions (1768) I began gradu- 
ally to advance from the w^ish to the hope, from the 
hope to the design, from the design to the execution, 
of my historical work, of whose limits and extent I 
had yet a very inadequate notion. The Classics, as 
low as Tacitus, the younger Pliny, and Juvenal, were 
my old and familiar companions. I insensibly plunged 
into the ocean of the Augustan history; and in the 
descending series I investigated, with my pen almost 
always in my hand, the original records, both Greek 
and Latin, from Dion Cassius to Ammianus Marcelli- 
nus, from the reign of Trajan to the last age of the 
Western Caesars. The subsidiary rays of medals, 
and inscriptions of geography and chronology, were 
thrown on their proper objects; and I applied the 
collections of Tillemont, whose inimitable accuracy / 
almost assumes the character of genius, to fix and 
arrange within my reach the loose and scattered atoms 
of historical information. Through the darkness of 

But some episodes of the work, on tlie Greek philosophy, the hieroglyphics 
of Egypt, etc., are entitled to the praise of learning, imagination, and 
discernment. 



186 MEMOIRS OF 

the Middle Ages I explored my way in the Amials and 
Antiquities of Italy of the learned Muratori, and dili- 
gently compared them with the parallel or transverse 
lines of Sigonius and MafFei, Baronius and Pagi^ till 
I almost grasped the ruins of Rome in the fourteenth 
century, without suspecting that this final chapter 
must be attained by the labor of six quartos and 
twenty years. Among the books which I purchased, 
the Theodosian Code, with the commentary of James 
Godefroy, must be gratefully remembered. I used it 
(and much I used it) as a work of history rather than 
of jurisprudence : but in every light it may be consid- 
ered as a full and capacious repository of the political 
state of the empire in the fourth and fifth centuries. 
As I believed, and as I still believe, that the propaga- 
tion of the gospel, and the triumph of the Church, 
are inseparably connected with the decline of the Ro- 
man monarchy, I weighed the causes and effects of 
the revolution, and contrasted the narratives and apol- 
ogies of the Christians themselves, with the glances 
of candor or enmity which the Pagans have cast on 
the rising sects. The Jewish and heathen testimo- 
nies, as they are collected and illustrated by Dr. Lard- 
ner, directed, without superseding, my search of the 
originals; and in an ample dissertation on the mirac- 
ulous darkness of the Passion, I privately drew my 
conclusions from the silence of an unbelieving age. 
I have assembled the preparatory studies directly or 
indirectly relative to my history ; but, in strict equity, 
they must be spread beyond this period of my life, 
over the two summers (1771 and 1772) that elapsed 
between my father's death and my settlement in Lon- 
don. 2. In a free conversation with books and men 
it would be endless to enumeiate the names and char- 



EDWARD GIBBON. 187 

acters of all who are introduced to our acquaintance ; 
but in this general acquaintance we may select the 
degrees of friendship and esteem. According to the 
wise maxim, ^^ Multum legere potius quam multa," I 
reviewed, again and again, the immortal works of the 
French and English, the Latin and Italian classics. 
My Greek studies (though less assiduous than I de- 
signed) maintained and extended my knowledge of 
that incomparable idiom. Homer and Xenophon 
were still my favorite authors ; and I had almost 
prepared for the press an Essay on the Cyropoedia, 
which, in my own judgment, is not unhappily la- 
bored. After a certain age, the new publications of 
merit are the sole food of the many; and the most 
austere student wdll be often tempted to break the 
line, for the sake of indulging his own curiosity, and 
of providing the topics of fashionable currency. A 
more respectable motive may be assigned for the third 
perusal of Blackstone's Commentaries; and a copi- 
ous and critical abstract of that English work was my 
first serious production in my native language. 3. My 
literary leisure was much less complete and indepen- 
dent than it might appear to the eye of a stranger. 
In the hurry of London I was destitute of books ; in 
the solitude of Hampshire I was not master of my 
time. My quiet was gradually distuibed by our do- 
mestic anxiety ; and I should be ashamed of my un- 
feeling philosophy, had I found much time or taste for 
study in the last fatal, summer (1770) of my father's 
decay and dissolution. 

The disembodying of the militia at the close of the 
war (1763) had restored the major (a new Cincinna- 
tus) to a life of agriculture. His labors were useful, 
his pleasures innocent, his wishes moderate; and my 



188 MEMOIES OF 

father seemed to enjoy the state of happiness which is 
celebrated by poets and philosophers as the most agree- 
able to nature and the least accessible to fortune. 

" Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis 
(Ut prisca gens mortalium) 
Paterna rura bobus exercet suis, 
Solutus omui foenore." * 

HoR. Fpod. II. 

But the last indispensable condition, the freedom 
from debt^ was wanting to my father's felicity; and 
the vanities of his youth were severely punished by the 
solicitude and sorrow of his declining age. The first 
mortgage, on my return from Lausanne (1758), hiA 
afforded hhn a partial and transient relief. The annual 
demand of interest and allowance was a heavy deduc- 
tion from his income } the militia was a source of ex- 
pense ; the farm in his hands was not a profitable 
adventure; he was loaded with the costs and damages 
of an obsolete lawsuit; and each year multiplied the 
number and exhausted the patience of his creditors. 
Under these painful circumstances, I consented to an 
additional mortgage, to the sale of Putney, and to every 
sacrifice that could alleviate his distress. But he was 
no longer capable of a rational effort, and his reluctant 
delays postponed not the evils themselves, but the rem- 
edies of those evils (remedia malormn potius quam mala 
differehat). The pangs of shame, tenderness, and self- 
reproach incessantly preyed on his vitals ; his constitu- 
tion was broken ; he lost his strength and his sight : 
the rapid progress of a dropsy admonished him of his 

* Like the first mortals blest is he, 
From debts, and usury, and business free. 
With his own team who ploughs the soil 
Which grattiul once confess'd his father's toil. 

Fjiancis. 



EDWAED GIBBON. 189 

end, and he sunk into the grave on the 10th of Novem- 
ber, 1770, in the sixty-fourth year of his age. A fam- 
ily tradition insinuates that Mr. William Law had drawn 
his pupil in the light and inconstant character of Flatus, 
who is ever confident, and ever disappointed in the chase 
of happiness. But these constitutional failings were 
happily compensated by the virtues of the head and 
heart, by the warmest sentiments of honor and human- 
ity. His graceful person, polite address, gentle man- 
ners, and unaffected cheerfulness recommended him to 
the favor of every company; and in the change of 
times and opinions, his liberal spirit had long since 
delivered him from the zeal and prejudice of a Tory 
education.^ I submitted to the order of nature, and my 
grief w^as soothed by the conscious satisfaction that I 
had discharged all the duties of filial piety. 

As soon as I had paid the last solemn duties to my 
father, and obtained, from time and reason, a tolerable 
composure of mind, I began to form a plan of an in- 
dependent life, most adapted to my circumstances and 
inclination. Yet so intricate was the net, my efforts 
were so awkward and feeble, that nearly two years 
(November, 1770, to October, 1772) were suffered to 
elapse before I could disentangle myself from the man- 
agement of the fann, and transfer my residence from 
Beriton to a house in London. During this interval I 
continued to divide my year between town and the 
country; but my new situation was brightened by hope, 
my stay in London was prolonged into the summer, and 
the uniformity of the summer was occasionally broken 
by visits and excursions at a distance from home. The 
gratification of my desires (they were not immoderate) 
has been seldom disappointed by the want of money or 
credit ; my pride was never insulted by the visit of an 



190 MEMOIES OF 

importunate tradesman ; and my transient anxiety for 
the past or future has been dispelled by the studious or 
social occupation of the present hour. My conscience 
does not accuse me of any act of extravagance or in- 
justice, and the remnant of my estate affords an ample 
and honorable provision for my declining age. I shall 
not expatiate on my economical affairs, which cannot 
be instructive or amusing to the reader. It is a rule of 
prudence, as well as of politeness, to reserve such con- 
fidence for the ear of a private friend, without exposing 
our situation to the envy or pity of strangers ; for envy 
is productive of hatred, and pity borders too nearly on 
contempt. Yet I may believe, and even assert, that in 
circumstances more indigent or more wealthy I should 
never have accomplished the task or acquired the fame 
of an historian; that my spirit would have been broken 
by poverty and contempt, and that my industry might 
have been relaxed in the labor and luxury of a super- 
fluous fortune. 

I had now attained the first of earthly blessings^ in- 
dependence ; I was the absolute master of my hours 
and actions ; nor was I deceived in the hope that the 
establishment of my library in town would allow me to 
divide the day between study and society. Each year 
the circle of my acquaintance, the number of my dead 
and living companions, was enlarged. To a lover of 
books the shops and sales of London present irresistible 
temptations ; and the manufacture of my history required 
a various and growing stock of materials. The militia, 
my travels, the House of Commons, the fame of an 
author, contributed to multiply my connections : I was 
chosen a member of the fashionable clubs ; and, before 
I left England in 1783, there were few persons of any 
eminence in the literary or political world to whom I 



EDWxVRD GIBBON. 191 

was a stranger.* It would most assuredly be in my 
power to amuse the reader with a gallery of portraits 
and a collection of anecdotes. But I have always con- 
demned the practice of transforming a private memorial 
into a vehicle of satire or praise. By my own choice 
I passed in town the greatest part of the year: but 
whenever I was desirous of breathing the air of the 
country, I possessed an hospitable retreat at Sheffield 
Place in Sussex, in the family of my valuable friend 
Mr. Holroyd, whose character, under the name of Lord 
Sheffield, has since been more conspicuous to the public. 
No sooner was I settled in my house and library 
than I undertook the composition of the first volume 
of my History. At the outset all was dark and doubt- 
ful, — even the title of the work, the true era of the 
Decline and Fall of the Empire, the limits of the in- 
troduction, the division of the chapters, and the order 
of the narrative ; and I was often tempted to cast away 
the labor of seven years. The style of an author should 
be the image of his mind, but the choica and command 
of language is the fruit of exercise. Many experiments 
were made before I could hit the middle tone between 
a dull chronicle and a rhetorical declamation : three 
times did I compose the first chapter, and twice the 
second and third, before I was tolerably satisfied with 
their efiect. In the remainder of the way I advanced 

* From the mixed though polite company of Boodle's, White's, and 
Brooks's, I must honorably distinguish a weekly society which was insti- 
tuted in the year 17G4, and which still continues to flourish, under the 
title of the Literary Club (Hawkins's Life of Johnson, p. 415. Boswell's 
Tour to the Hebrides, p. 97). The names of Dr. Johnson, Mr. Burke, 
Mr. Topham Bjauclerc, Mr. Garrick, Dr. Goldsmith, Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
Mr. Colman, Sir William Jones, Dr. Percy, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. 
Adam Smith, Mr. Steevens, Mr. Dunning, Sir Joseph Banks, Dr. Warton, 
and his brother, Mr. Thomas Warton, Dr. Burney, etc., form a large and 
lumiuoua constellation of British stars. 



192 MEMOIRS OF 

-with a more equal and easy pace ; but the fifteenth and 
sixteenth chapters have been reduced^ by three succes- 
sive revisals, from a large volume to their present size; 
and they might still be compressed without any loss of 
facts or sentiments. An opposite fault may be imputed 
to the concise and superficial narrative of the first reigns, 
from Commodus to Alexander ; a fault of which I have 
never heard, except from Mr. Hume in his last journey 
to London. Such an oracle might have been consulted 
and obeyed with rational devotion ; but I was soon dis- 
gusted with the modest practice -of reading the manu- 
script to my friends. Of such friends, some will praise 
from politeness, and some will criticise from vanity. 
The author himself is the best judge of his own per- 
formance J no one has so deeply meditated on- the subject ; 
no one is so sincerely interested in the event. 

By the friendship of Mr. (now Lord) Elliot, who had 
married my first cousin, I was returned at the general 
election for the borough of Liskeard. I took my seat 
at the beginning of the memorable contest between 
Great Britain and America, and supported, with many 
a sincere and silent vote, the rights, though not per- 
haps the interest, of the mother country. After a 
fleeting illusive hope, prudence condemned me to ac- 
quiesce in the humble station of a mute. I was not 
armed by nature and education with the intrepid en- 
ergy of mind and voice, 

" Vincentum strepitus, et natum rebus agendis." 

Timidity was fortified by pride, and even the success 
of my pen discouraged the trial of my voice.* But I 

* A Trencli sketch of Mr. Gibbon's Life, written by himself, probably 
for the use of some foreign journalist or translator, contains no fact not 
mentioned in his English Life. He there descriljes himself with his 
usual candor. " Depuis huit ans il a assiste aux deliberations le plus im- 



EDWARD GIBBON. 193 

assisted at the debates of a free assembly ; I listened 
to the attaclc and defence of eloquence and reason ; I 
had a near prospect of the character, views, and pas- 
sions of the first men of the age. The cause of gov- 
ernment was ably vindicated by Lord North, a states- 
man of spotless integrity, a consummate master of 
debate, who could wield with equal dexterity the arms 
of reason and of ridicule. He w^as seated on the treas- 
ury-bench between his attorney and solicitor-general, 
the two pillars of the law and state, magis pares quam 
similes; and the minister might indulge in a short 
slumber whilst he was uph olden on either hand by the 
majestic sense of Thurlow and the skilful eloquence of 
Wedderburne. From the adverse side of the house 
an ardent and powerful opp<^sition was supported by 
the lively declamation of Barre, the legal acuteness of 
Dunning, the profuse and philosophic fancy of Burke, 
and the argumentative vehemence of Fox, who in the 
conduct of a party approved himself equal to the con- 
duct of an empire. By such men every operation of 
peace and war, every principle of justice or policy, 
every question of authority and freedom, was attacked 
and defended; and the subject of the momentous 
contest was the union or separation of Great Britain 
and America. The eight sessions that I sat in Parlia- 
ment were a school of civil prudence, the first and 
most essential virtue of an historian. 

The volume of my History, which had been some- 
what delayed by the novelty and tumult of a first 

portantes, mais il ne s'est jamais trouve !e courage ni le talent de parler 
dans line asseniblee piiblique." This sketch was written before the pub- 
lication of his three last volumes, as in closing it he says of his History : 
" Cettc entreprise lui demande encore plusieurs annees d'une application 
soutennee; mais quelqu'en soit le succes, il trouve dans cette application 
m^nie un plaisir toujours vari6 et toujours renaissant." S. 



194 MExMOIRS OF 

session, was now ready for the press. After the 
perilous adventure had been declined by my friend 
Mr. Elmsly, I agreed upon easy terms with Mr. 
Thomas Cadell, a respectable bookseller, and Mr. 
William Strahan, an eminent printer j and they un- 
dertook the care and risk of the publication, which 
derived more credit from the name of the shop than 
from that of the author. The last revisal of the 
proofs was submitted to my vigilance; and many 
blemishes of style, which had been invisible in the 
manuscript, were discovered and corrected in the 
printed sheet. So moderate were our hopes, that the 
original impression had been stinted to five hundred, 
till the number was doubled by the prophetic taste 
of Mr. Strahan. During this awful interval I was 
neither elated by the ambition of fame nor depressed 
by the apprehension of contempt. My diligence and 
accuracy were attested by my own conscience. His- 
tory is the most popular species of writing, since it 
can adapt itself to the highest or the lowest capacity. 
I had chosen an illustrious subject. Rome is familiar 
to the school-boy and the statesman ; and my narra- 
tive was deduced from the last period of classical read- 
ing. I had likewise flattered myself that an age of 
light and liberty would receive, without scandal, an 
inquiry into the human causes of the progress and 
establishment of Christianity. 

I am at a loss how to describe the success of the 
work, without betraying the vanity of the writer. 
The first impression was exhausted in a few days ; a 
second and third edition were scarcely adequate to the 
demand ; and the bookseller's property was twice in- 
vaded by the pirates of Dublin. My book was on 
every table, and almost on every toilette } the histo- 



EDWARD GIBBON. 195 

rian was crowned by the taste or fashion of the day; 
nor was the general voice disturbed by the barking of 
any profane critic. The favor of mankind is most 
freely bestowed on a new acquaintance of any original 
merit ; and the mutual surprise of the public and their 
favorite is productive of those warm sensibilities which 
at a second meethig can no longer be rekindled. If I 
listened to the music of praise^ I was more seriously 
satisfied with the approbation of my judges. The 
candor of Dr. Robertson embraced his disciple. A 
letter from Mr. Hume overpaid the labor of ten years ; 
but I have never presumed t© accept a place in the 
triumvirate of British historians. 

That curious and original letter will amuse the 
reader, and his gratitude should shield my free com- 
munication from the reproach of vanity. 

Edinburgh, March 18, 1776. 
Dear Sir, — As I ran tkrough your volume of history 
with great avidity and impatience, I cannot forbear discover- 
ing somewhat of the same impatience in returning you thanks 
for your agreeable present, and expressing the satisfaction 
which the performance has given me. Whether I consider the 
dignity of your style, the depth of your matter, or the exten- 
siveness of your learning, I must regard the work as equally 
the object of esteem ; and I own that if I had not previously 
had the happiness of your personal acquaintance, such a per- 
formance from an Englishman in our age would have given me 
some surprise. You may smile at this sentiment ; but as it 
seems to me that your countrymen, for almost a whole genera- 
tion, have given themselves up to barbarous and absurd faction, 
and have totally neglected all polite letters, I no longer ex- 
pected any valuable production ever to come from them. I 
know it will give you pleasure (as it did me) to find that all 
the men of letters in this place concur in their admiration of 
your work, and in their anxious desire of your continuing it. 



196 MEMOIRS OF 

When I heard of your undertaking (which was some time 
ago) I own I was a little carious to see how you would extricate 
yourself from the subject of your two last chapters. I think you 
have observed a very prudent temperament ; but it was impossible 
to treat the subject so as not to give grounds of suspicion against 
yoUj and you may expect that a clamor will arise. This, if any- 
thing, will retard your success with the public ; for in every 
other respect your work is calculated to be popular. But among 
many other marks of decline, the prevalence of superstition 
in England prognosticates the fall of philosophy and decay of 
taste ; and though nobody be more capable than you to revive 
them, you will probably find a struggle in your first advances. 

I see you entertain a great doubt with regard to the au- 
thenticity of the poems of Ossian. You are certainly right in 
so doing. It is indeed strange that any men of sense could 
have imagined it possible that above twenty thousand verses, 
along with numberless historical facts, could have been pre- 
served by oral tradition during fifty generations, by the rudest 
perhaps of all the European nations, the most necessitous, the 
most turbulent, and the most unsettled. Where a supposition 
is so contrary to common sense, any positive evidence of it 
ought never to be regarded. Men run with great avidity to 
give their evidence in favor of what flatters their passions and 
their national prejudices. You are therefore over and above 
indulgent to us in speaking of the matter with hesitation. 

I must inform you that w^e are all very anxious to hear 
that you have fully collected the materials for your second 
volume, and that you are even considerably advanced in the 
composition of it. I speak this more in the name of my 
friends than in my own, as I cannot expect to live so long as to 
see the publication of it. Your ensuing volume will be more 
delicate than the preceding, but I trust in your prudence for 
extricating you from the difficulties ; and, in all events, you 
have courage to despise the clamor of bigots. 

I am, with great regard, dear sir, your most obedient and 
most humble servant, 

DAVID HUME. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 197 

Some weeks afterwards I had the melancholy pleas- 
ure of seeing Mr. Hume in his passage through Lon- 
don ; his body feeble, his mind firm. On the 25th of 
August of the same year (1776) he died at Edinburgh 
the death of a philosopher. 

My second excursion to Paris was determined by 
the pressing invitation of M. and Madame Necker, who 
had visited England in the preceding summer. On 
my arrival I found M. Necker director-general of the 
finances, in the first bloom of power and popularity. 
His private fortune enabled him to support a liberal 
establishment ; and his wife, whose talents and virtues 
I had long admired, was admirably qualified to preside 
in the conversation of her table and drawing-room. 
As tlieir friend, I was introduced to the best company 
of both sexes, to the foreign ministers of all nations, 
and to the first names and characters of France, who 
distinguished me by such marks of civility and kind- 
ness as gratitude will not suffer me to forget, and 
modesty will not allow me to enumerate. The fash- 
ionable suppers often broke into the morning hours ; 
yet I occasionally consulted the royal library, and that 
of the Abbey of St. Germain ; and in the free use of 
their books at home I had always reason to praise the 
liberality of those institutions. The society of men of 
letters I neither courted nor declined ; but I was happy 
in the acquaintance of M. de Buffon, who united with 
a sublime genius the most amiable simplicity of mind 
and manners. At the table of my old friend, M. de 
Forcemagne, I was involved in a dispute with the Abbe 
de Mably ; and his jealous irascible spirit revenged 
itself on a work which he was incapable of reading in 
the original. 

As I might be partial in my own cause, I shall 



198 MEMOIRS OF 

transcribe the words of an unknown critic, observing 
only that this dispute had been preceded by another on 
the English constitution, at the house of the Countess 
de Froulay, an old Jansenist lady. 

" Vous etiez chez M. de Forcemagne, mon cher Theodon, 
le jour que M. I'Abbe de Mably et M. Gibbon y dinerent cb 
grande compaguie. La conversation roula presque entierement 
sur I'histoire. L'abbe, etant un profond poHtique, la tourna 
sur Tadministration, quand on fut au dessert ; et comme par 
caractere, par humeur, par I'habitude d'admirer Tite Live, il ne 
prise que le systerae republicain, il se mit a vanter I'excellence 
des republiques ; bien persuade que le savant Anglois I'ap- 
prouveroit en tout, et admireroit la profondeur de genie qui 
avoit fait deviner tous ces avantages a un Fran9ois. Mais M. 
Gibbon, instruit par I'experience des inconveniens d'un gou- 
vernement populaire, ne fut point du tout de son avis, et il prit 
genereusement la defense du gouvernement monarchique. L'abbe 
voulut le convaincre par Tite Live, et par quelques argumens 
tires de Plutarque en faveur des Spartiates. M. Gibbon, done 
de la memoire la plus heureuse, et ayant tous les faits presens 
a la pensee, domina bientot la conversation; l'abbe se facha, il 
s'emporta, il dit des choses dures ; I'Anglois, conservant le 
phlegme de son pays, prenoit ses avantages, et pressoit l'abbe 
avec d'autant plus de succes que la colere le troubloit de plus 
en plus. La conversation s'ecbauffoit, et M. de Forcemagne la 
rompit en se levant de table, et en passant dans le salon, ou 
personne ne fut tente de la renouer." * 

* Supplement de la Maniere d'ecrire I'Histoire, p. 125. 

Of the voluminous writings of the Abbe de Mably (see his Eloge by the 
Abbe Brizard), the " Principes du droit public de I'Europe," and the first 
part of the " Observations sur THistoire de France,'* may be deservedly 
praised; and even the "Maniere d'ecrire I'Histoire" contains several 
useful precepts and judicious remarks. Mably was a lover of virtue and 
freedom ; but his virtue was austere, and his freedom was impatient of 
an equal. Kings, magistrates, nobles, and successful writers were the 
objects of his contempt or hatred or envy ; but his illiberal abuse of 



EDWARD GIBBON. 199 

Nearly two years had elapsed between the publica- 
tion of my first and the commencement of my second 
volume ; and the causes must be assigned of this long 
delay. 1. After a short holiday, I indulged my curi- 
osity in some studies of a very different nature; a 
course of anatomy, which was demonstrated by Dr. 
Hunter, and some lessons of chemistry, which were 
delivered by Mr. Higgins. The principles of these 
sciences, and a taste for books of natural history, con- 
tributed to multiply my ideas and images; and the 
anatomist and chemist may sometimes track me in 
their own snow. 2. I dived, perhaps too deeply, into 
the mud of the Arian controversy; and many days of 
reading, thinking and writing wei'e consumed in the 
pursuit of a phantom. 3. It is difficult to arrange, 
with order and perspicuity, the various transactions of 
the age of Constantine ; and so much was I displeased 
with the first essay that I committed to the flames 
above fifty sheets. 4. The six months of Paris and 
pleasure must be deducted from the account. But 
when I resumed my task I felt my improvement; I 
was now master of my style and subject, and while the 
measure of my daily performance was enlarged, I dis- 
covered less reason to cancel or correct. It has always 
been my practice to cast a long paragraph in a single 
mould, to try it by my ear, to deposit it in my mem- 
ory, but to suspend the action of the pen till I had 

Voltaire, Hume, Buffon, tlie Abbe Reynal, Dr. Robertson, and tutti 
quanti, can be injurious only to himself. 

" Est il rien de plus fastidieux [says tlie polite censor] qu'un M. Gib- 
bon, qui dans son ^ternelle Histoire des Empereurs Romains, suspend a 
chaque instant son insipide et lente narration, pour vous expliqiier la 
cause des faits que vous allez lire ? " (Mauiere d'ecrire I'Histoire, p. 
18i. See another passage, p. 280.) Yet I am indebted to the Abbe de 
Mably for two such advocates as the anonymous French critic and my 
friend Mr. Hayley. (Hayley's works, 8\o Edit. Vol. II. pp. 261-283.) 



200 MEMOIRS OF 

given the last polish to my work. Shall I add that I 
never found my mind more vigorous, nor my composi- 
tion more happy, than in the winter hurry of society 
and parliament f 

Had I believed that the majority of English readers 
were so fondly attached even to the name and shadow 
of Christianity; had I foreseen that the pious, the 
timid, and the prudent would feel, or affect to feel, 
with such exquisite sensibility, I might perhaps have 
softened the two invidious chapters which would cre- 
ate many enemies and conciliate few friends. But the 
shaft was shot, the alarm was sounded, and I could 
only rejoice that if the voice of our priests was clamor- 
ous and bitter, their hands were disarmed from the 
powers of persecution. I adhered to the wise resolu- 
tion of trusting myself and my writings to the candor 
of the public, till Mr. Davies of Oxford presumed to 
attack, not the faith, but the fidelity of the historian. 
My Vindication, expressive of less anger than con- 
tempt, amused for a moment the busy and idle me- 
tropolis ; and the most rational part of the laity, and 
even of the clergy, appear to have been satisfied of my 
innocence and accuracy. I would not print this Vindi- 
cation in quarto, lest it should be bound and preserved 
with the History itself. At the distance of twelve 
years I calmly affirm my judgment of Davies, Chel- 
sum, etc. A victory over such antagonists was a suf- 
ficient humiliation. They, however, were rewarded 
in this world. Poor Chelsum was indeed neglected ; 
and I dare not boast the making Dr. Watson a bishop ; 
he is a prelate of a large mind and liberal spirit : but 
I enjoyed the pleasure of giving a royal pension to 
Mr. Davies, and of collating Dr. Apthorpe to an archi- 
episcopal living. Their success encouraged the zeal of 



EDWARD GIBBON. 201 

Taylor the Arian^* and Milner the Methodist, f with 
many others whom it would be difficult to remember 
and tedious to rehearse. The list of my adversaries, 
however, was graced with the more respectable names 
of Dr. Priestley, Sir David Dalrymple, and Dr. White ; 
and every polemic, of either university, discharged his 
sermon or pamphlet against the impenetrable silence 
of the Rom-.m historian. In his *' History of the Cor- 
ruptions of Christianity/^ Dr. Priestley threw down his 
two gauntlets to Bishop Hurd and Mr. Gibbon. I de- 
clined the challenge in a letter, exhorting my opponent 
to enlighten the world by his philosophical discoveries, 
and to remember that the merit of his predecessor Ser- 
vetus is now reduced to a single passage which indi- 
cates the smaller circulation of the blood through the 
lungs, from and to the heart, t Instead of listening to 
this friendly advice, the dauntless philosopher of Bir- 
mingham continued to lire away his double battery 
against those who believed too little and those who 
believed too much. From my replies he has nothing 
to hope or fear ; but his Socinian shield has repeatedly 
been pierced by the mighty spear of Horsley, and his 
trumpet of sedition may at length awaken the magis- 
trates of a free country. 

* The stupendous title, " Thoughts on the Causes of the Grand Apos- 
tasy," at first agitated my nerves, till I discovered that it was the apostasy 
of the whole Church, since the Council of Nice, from Mr. Taylor's private 
religion. His book is a thorough mixture of high enthusiasm and low 
buffoonery, and the Millennium is a fundamental article of his creed. 

f From his grammar school, at Kingston-upon-HuU, Mr. Joseph Milner 
pronounces an anathema against all rational religion. His faith is a 
divine taste, a spiritual inspiration ; his church is a mystic and invisible 
body; tlie natural Christians, such as Mr. Locke, who believe and in- 
terpret the Scriptures, are, in his judgment, no better than profane 
infidels. 

X Astruc de la Structure du Cceur, Tom. I. 77, 79. 



202 MEMOIRS OF 

The profession and rank of Sir David Dalrymple 
(now a lord of session) have given a more decent 
color to his style. But he scrutinized each separate 
passage of the two chapters with the dry minute- 
ness of a special pleader ; and as he was always solici- 
tous to make, he may have succeeded sometimes in 
finding, a flaw. In his ^^ Annals of Scotland ^^ he 
has shown himself a diligent collector and an accurate 
critic. 

I have praised^ and I still praise, the eloquent ser- 
mons which were preached in St. Mary^s pulpit at 
Oxford hy Dr. White. If he assaulted me with some 
degree of illiberal acrimony, in such a place and 
before such an audience, he was obliged to speak the 
language of the country. I smiled at a passage in one 
of his private letters to Mr. Badcock, — ''• The part 
where we encounter Gibbon must be brilliant and 
striking.'^ 

In a sermon preached before the University of Cam- 
bridge Dr. Edwards complimented a work '^ which 
can only perish with the language itself '' ; and esteems 
the author a formidable enemy. He is, indeed, aston- 
ished that more learning and ingenuity have not been 
shown in the defence of Israel ] that the prelates and 
dignitaries of the Church (alas, good man !) did not vie 
with each other, wliose stone should sink the deepest 
in the forehead of this Goliath. 

"But the force of truth will oblige us to confess that, in the 
attacks which have been levelled against our sceptical historian, 
we can discover but slender traces of profound and exquisite 
erudition, of solid criticism and accurate investigation ; but we 
are too frequently disgusted by vague and inconclusive reason- 
ings, hy unseasonable banter and senseless witticisms, by im- 
bittered bigotry and enthusiastic jargon, by futile cavils and 



EDWARD GIBBON. 203 

illiberal invectives. Proud and elated by tbe weakness of bis 
antagonists, be condescends not to bandle tbe sword of con- 
troversy." * 

Let me frankly own that I was startled at the first 
discharge of ecclesiastical ordnance ; hat as soon as I 
fv)and that this empty noise was mischievous only in 
the .intention, my fear was converted into indignation; 
and every feeling of indignation or curiosity has long 
since subsided in pure and placid indifference. 

The prosecution of my History was soon afterwards 
checked by another controversy of a very different 
kind. At the request of the Lord Chancellor, and of 
Lord Weymouth, then Secretary of State, I vindicated, 
against the French manifesto, the justice of the British 
arms. The whole correspondence of Lord Stormont, 
our late ambassador at Paris, was submitted to my 
inspection ; and the ^* Memoire Justificatif," which I 
composed in French, was first approved by the cabinet 
ministers and then delivered as a state paper to the 
courts of Europe. The style and manner are praised 
by Beaumarchais himself, who, in his private quarrel, 
attempted a reply ; but he flatters me by ascribing 
the memoir to Lord Stormont ; and the grossness of 
his invective betrays the loss of temper and of wit; 
he acknowledged f that '^e style ne seroit pas sans 
grace, ni la logique sans justice,'^ etc., if the facts 
were true, which he undertakes to disprove. For 
these facts my credit is not pledged ; I spoke as a 
lawyer from my brief; but the veracity of Beaumar- 
chais may be estimated from the assertion that France, 
by the treaty of Paris (1763), was limited to a certain 
number of ships of war. On the application of the 

* Monthly Review, October, 1790. 

t CEuvres de Beaumarchais, Tom. III. pp. 299, 355. 



204 MEMOIRS OF 

Dake of Choiseul, he was obliged to retract this daring 
falsehood. 

Among the honorable connections which I had 
formed, I may justly be proud of the friendship of 
Mr. Wedderburne, at that time attorney-general, who 
now illustrates the title of Lord Loughborough, and 
the office of Chief Justice of the Common Pleas. By 
his strong recommendation, and the favorable dis- 
position of Lord North, I was appointed one of the 
Lords Commissioners of Trade and Plantations ; and my 
private income was enlarged by a clear addition of 
between seven and eight hundred pounds a year. The 
fancy of an hostile orator may paint, in the strong 
colors of ridicule, ^^the perpetual virtual adjourn- 
ment and the unbroken sitting vacation of the Board 
of Trade.'^ * But it must be allowed that our duty was 
not intolerably severe, and that I enjoyed many days 
and weeks of repose without being called away from 
my library to the office. My acceptance of a place 
provoked some of the leaders of opposition with whom 
I had lived in habits of intimacy ', f and I was . most 

* I can never forget the deliglit with wliich that diffusive and ingenious 
orator, Mr. Burke, was heard by all sides of the house, and even, by those 
whose existence he proscribed. (See Mr. Burke's speech on the Bill of 
Reform, pp. 72-80.) The Lords of Trade blushed at their insignificancy, 
and Mr. Eden's appeal to the two thousand five hundred volumes of our 
reports served only to excite a general laugh. I take this opportunity 
of certifying the correctness of Mr. Burke's printed speeches, which I 
have heard and read. 

t It has always appeared to me that nothing could be more unjustifiable 
than the manner in which some persons allowed themselves to speak of 
Mr. Gibbon's acceptance of an office at the Board of Trade. I can con- 
ceive that he may carelessly have used strong expressions in respect to 
some or all parties ; but he never meant that such expressions should be 
taken literally; and 1 know, beyond all possibility of question, that he 
was so far from being " in a state of savage hostility towards Lord North," 
as it is savagely expressed by Mr. Whitaker, that he always'loved and 
esteemed him. 1 saw Mr. Gibbon constantly at this time, and was well 



EDWARD GIBBON'. 205 

unjustly accused of deserting a party in wliicli I had 
never enlisted. 

The aspect of the next session of Parliament was 
stormy and perilous ; county meetings, petitions, and 
committees of correspondence, announced the public 
discontent } and instead of voting with a triumphant 
majority, the friends of government were often ex- 
posed to a struggle and sometimes to a defeat. The 
House of Commons adopted Mr. Dunning's motion, 
'^ That the influence of the crown had increased, was 
increasing, and ought to be diminished '' : and Mr. 
Burke's Bill of Keform was framed with skill, intro- 
duced with eloquence, and supported by numbers. 
Our late president, the American secretary of state, 
very narrowly escaped the sentence of proscription; 
but the unfortunate Board of Trade was abolished in 
the committee by a small majority (207 to 199) of 
eight votes. The storm, however, blew over for a 
time; a large defection of country gentlemen eluded 
the sanguine hopes of the patriots : the Lords of Trade 
were revived; administration recovered their strength 
and spirit; and the flames of London, which were 
kindled by a mischievous madman,* admonished all 
thinking men of the*danger of an appeal to the people. 

acquainted with all his political opinions. And although he was not per- 
fectly satisfied with evenj measure, yet he uniformly supported all the 
principal ones regarding the American war ; and considered himself, and 
indeed was, a friend to administration to the very period of liis accepting 
office. He liked the hrilliant society of a cluh, tlie most distinguished 
merahers of which were notorious for their opposition to government, 
and might he led, in some degree, to join in their language ; l)ut Mr. Gib- 
bon had little, I had almost said no, political acrimony in his character. 
If the opposition of that or any other time could claim for their own 
every person who was not perfectly satisfied with all the measures of 
government, their party would unquestionably have been more formi- 
dable. S. 
* The Gordon Riots, celebrated in Barnaby Rudge. 



206 MEMOIRS OF 

In the premature dissolution which followed this ses- 
sion of Parliament I lost my seat. Mr. Elliot was 
now deeply engaged in the measures of opposition, 
and the electors of Liskeard* are commonly of the 
same opinion as Mr. Elliot. 

In this interval of my senatorial life I published 
the second and third volumes of the Decline and Fall. 
My ecclesiastical history still breathed the same spirit 
of freedom ; but Protestant zeal is more indifferent to 
the characters and controversies of the fourth and fifth 
centuries. My obstinate silence had damped the ardor 
of the polemics. Dr. Watson, the most candid of my 
adversaries, assured me that he had no thoughts of 
renewing the attack ; and my impartial balance of the 
virtues and vices of Julian was generally praised. 
This truce was interrupted only by some animadver- 
sions of the Catholics of Italy, and by some angry 
letters from Mr. Travis, who made me personally 
responsible for condemning, with the best critics, the 
spurious text of the three heavenly witnesses. 

The piety or prudence of my Italian translator has 
provided an antidote against the poison of his original. 
The fifth and seventh volumes are armed with five 
letters from an anonymous divine to his friends, Foot- 
head and Kirk, two English students at Rome ; and 
this meritorious service is commended by Monsignor 
Stonor, a prelate of the same nation, who discovers 
much venom in the fluid and nervous style of Gibbon. 
The critical essay at the end of the third volume was 
furnished by the Abbate Nicola Spedalieri, whose zeal 
has gradually swelled to a more solid confutation in 
two quarto volumes. Shall I be excused for not 
having read them ? 

* The borough which Mr. Gibbon had represented in Parliament. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 207 

The brutal insolence of Mr. Travis's challenge can 
only be excused by the absence of learning, judgment, 
and humanity ; and to that excuse he has the fairest 
or foulest pretension. Compared with Archdeacon 
Travis, Chelsum and Davies assume the title of respec- 
table enemies. 

The bigoted advocate of popes and monks may be 
turned over even to the bigots of Oxford; and the 
wretched Travis still smarts under the lash of the 
merciless Porson. I consider Mr. Porson's answer to 
Archdeacon Travis as the most acute and accurate 
piece of criticism which has appeared since the days 
of Bentley. His strictures are founded in argument, 
enriched vidth learning, and enlivened with wit; and 
his adversary neither deserves nor finds any quarter 
at his hands. The evidence of the three heavenly 
witnesses would now be rejected in any court of jus- 
tice : but prejudice is blind, authority is deaf, and our 
vulgar bibles will ever be polluted by this spurious 
text, ^^ Sedet seternumque sedebit." The more learned 
ecclesiastics will indeed have the secret satisfaction 
of reprobating in the closet what they read in the 
church. 

I perceived, and without surprise, the coldness and 
even prejudice of the town; nor could a whisper 
escape my ear, that, in the judgment of many readers, 
my continuation was much inferior to the original 
attempts. An author w^ho cannot ascend will always 
appear to sink : envy was now prepared for my recep- 
tion ; and the zeal of my religious was fortified by the 
malice of my political enemies. Bishop Newton, in 
writing his own life, was at full liberty to declare 
how much he himself and two eminent brethren were 
disgusted by Mr. Gibbon's prolixity, tediousness, and 



208 MEMOIRS OF 

affectation. But the old man should not have mdulged 
his zeal in a false and feehle charge against the his- 
torian who had faithfully and even cautiously ren- 
dered Dr. Burnetts meaning by the alternative of sleep 
or repose. That philosophic divine supposes that in 
the period between death and the resurrection human 
souls exist without a body, endowed with internal 
consciousness, but destitute of all active or passive 
connection with the external world. ^^ Secundum com- 
munem dictionem sacrae scripturse, mors dicitur somnus, 
et morientes dicuntur ohdormire^ quod innuere mihi 
videtur statum mortis esse statum quietis, silentii, et 
aepyaaeas.^^ * 

1 was, however, encouraged by some domestic and 
foreign testimonies of applause ; and the second and 
third volumes insensibly rose in sale and reputation to 
a level with the first. But the public is seldom wrong; 
and I am inclined to believe that, especially in the 
beginning, they are more prolix and less entertaining 
than the first : my efforts had not been relaxed by 
success, and I had rather deviated into the opposite 
fault of minute and superfluous diligence. On the 
Continent my name and writings were slowly diffused : 
a French translation of the first volume had disap- 
pointed the booksellers of Paris ; and a passage in the 
third was construed as a personal reflection on the 
reigning monarch, f 

* De Statii Mortuorum, Ch. V. p. 98. 

+ It may not be generally known that Louis XVI. is a great reader, 
and a reader of English books. On perusing a passage of my History, 
which seems to compare him to Arcadius or Honorius, he expressed his 
resentment to the Prince of B , from whom the intelligence was con- 
veyed to me. I shall neither disclaim the allusion, nor examine the like- 
ness ; but the situation of the late King of France excludes all suspicion 
of flattery ; and I am ready to declare that the concluding obser^ ations 
of my third volume were written before his accession to the throne. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 209 

Before I could apply for a seat at the general elec- 
tion, the list was already full; but Lord North's 
promise was sincere, his recommendation was effect- 
ual, and I was soon chosen on a vacancy for the 
borough of Lymington in Hampshire. In the first 
session of the new Parliament administration stood 
their ground; their final overthrow was reserved ft)r 
the second. The American war had once been the 
favorite of the country : the pride of England was 
irritated by the resistance of her colonies, and the ex- 
ecutive power was driven by national clamor into the 
most vigorous and coercive measures. But the length 
of a fruitless contest, the loss of armies, the accumula- 
tion of debt and taxes, and the hostile confederacy of 
France, Spain, and Holland, indisposed the public to 
the American war, and the persons by whom it was 
conducted ; the representatives of the people followed, 
at a slow distance, the changes of their opinion ; and 
the ministers, who refused to bend, were broken by 
the tempest. As soon as Lord North had lost, or was 
about to lose, a majority in the House of Commons, 
he surrendered his office, and retired to a private sta- 
tion, with the tranquil assurance of a clear conscience 
and a cheerful temper : the old fabric was dissolved, 
and the posts of government were occupied by the 
victorious and veteran troops of opposition. The 
Lords of Trade were not immediately dismissed, but the 
board itself was abolished by Mr. Burke^s bill, which 
decency had compelled the patriots to revive ; and I 
was stripped of a convenient salary, after having en- 
joyed it about three years 

So flexible is the title of my History, that the final 
era might be fixed at my own choice; and I long 
hesitated whether I should be content with the three 



210 MEMOIRS OF 

yolumes, the Fall of the Western Emph-e, which ful- 
filled my first engagement with the public. In this 
interval of suspense, nearly a twelvemonth, I returned 
by a natural impulse to the Greek authors of antiquity; 
I read with new pleasure the Iliad and the Odyssey, 
the histories of Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, 
a large portion of the tragic and comic theatre of Ath- 
ens, and many interesting dialogues of the Socratic 
school. Yet in the luxury of freedom I began to wish 
for the daily task, the active pursuit, which gave a 
value to every book and an object to every inquiry : 
the preface of a new edition announced my design, 
and I dropped without reluctance from the age of 
Plato to that of Justinian. The original texts of 
Procopius and Agathias supplied the events and even 
the characters of his reign ; but a laborious winter was 
devoted to the codes, the pandects, and the modern 
interpreters, before I presumed to form an abstract of 
the civil law. My skill was improved by practice, my 
diligence perhaps was quickened by the loss of office ; 
and, excepting the last chapter, I had finished the 
fourth volume before I sought a retreat on the banks 
of the Leman lake. 

It is not the purpose of this narrative to expatiate 
on the public or secret history of the times, — the 
schism which followed the death of the Marquis of 
Rockingham, the appointment of the Earl of Shel- 
burne, the resignation of Mr. Fox, and his famous 
coalition with Lord North. But I may assert, with 
some degree of assurance, that in their political con- 
flict those great antagonists had never felt any per- 
sonal animosity to each other, that their reconciliation 
was easy and sincere, and that their friendship has 
never been clouded by the shadow of suspicion or 



EDWARD GIBBOX. 211 

jealousy. The most violent or venal of their respec- 
tive followers embraced this fair occasion of revolt, 
but their alliance still commanded a majority in the 
House of Commons ; the peace was censured, Lord 
Shelburne resigned, and the two friends knelt on the 
same cushion to take the oath of secretary of state. 
From a principle of gratitude I adhered to the coali- 
tion : my vote was counted in the day of battle, but I 
was overlooked in the division of the spoil. There 
were many claimants more deserving and importunate 
than myself : the Board of Trade could not be restored ; 
and, while the list of places was curtailed, the number 
of candidates was doubled. An easy dismission to a 
secure seat at the Board of Customs or Excise was 
promised on the first vacancy : but the chance was 
distant and doubtful ; nor could I solicit with much 
ardor an ignoble servitude, which would have robbed 
me of the most valuable of my st'idious hours : * at 
the same time the tumult of London, and the attend- 
ance on Parliament, were grown more irksome ; and 
without some additional income I could not long or 
prudently maintain the style of expense to which I 
was accustomed. 

* About the same time, it being in contemplation to send a secretary 
of embassy to Paris, Mr. Gil)bon was a competitor for that ottice. ( See 
lett( r to and from Lord Thiirlow.) The credit of being distinguished 
and stopped l)y government when be was leaving England, the salary of 
£12)0 a year, the society of Paris, and the hope of a future provision for 
life, disposed him to renounce, though with much reluctance, an agreea- 
ble scheme on tbe point of execution; to engage, without experience, in 
a scene of business which he never liked ; to give liimself a master, or at 
least a principal, of an unknown, perbaps an unamiable character: to 
wbich miglit be added the danger of the recall of the ambassador or the 
change of ministry. Mr. Anthony Storer was preferred. Mr. Gibbon 
was somewhat indignant at the preference ^ but he never knew that it 
was the act of his fiicnd Mr. Fox, contrary to the solicitations of Mr. 
Craufurd and other of his friends. S. 



212 MEMOIES OF 

From my early acquaintance with Lausanne, I had 
always cherished a secret wish that the school of my 
youth might become the retreat of my declining age. 
A moderate fortune would secure the blessings of ease, 
leisure, and independence ; the country, the people, the 
manners, the language, were congenial to my taste; 
and I might indulge the hope of passing some years in 
the domestic society of a friend. After travelling with 
several English, Mr. Deyverdun w^as now settled at 
home, in a pleasant habitation, the gift of his deceased 
aunt ; we had long been separated, we had long been 
silent ; yet in my first letter I exposed, with the most 
perfect confidence, my situation, my sentiments, and 
my designs. His immediate answer was a warm and 
joyful acceptance : the picture of our future life pro- 
voked my impatience ; and the terms of arrangement 
were short and simple, as he possessed the property, 
and I undertook the expense of our common house. 
Before I could break my English chain, it was incum- 
bent on me to struggle with the feelings of my heart, 
the indolence of my temper, and the opinion of the 
world, which unanimously condemned this voluntary 
banishment. In the disposal of my effects, the library, 
a sacred deposit, was alone excepted. As my post- 
chaise moved over Westminster Bridge, I bade a long 
farewell to the ''fumum et opes strepitumque Romae.^^ 
My journey by the direct road through France was not 
attended with any accident, and I arrived at Lausanne 
nearly twenty years after my second departure. Within 
less than three months the coalition struck on some 
hidden rocks; had I remained on board I should have 
perished in the general shipwreck. 

Since my establishment at Lausanne more than 
seven years have elapsed; and if every day has not 



EDWARD GIBBON. 213 

been equally soft and serene, not a day, not a moment, 
has occurred in which I have repented of my choice. 
During my absence, a long portion of human life, 
many clianges had happened : my elder acquaintance 
had left the stage ; virgins were ripened into matrons, 
and children were grown to the age of manhood. But 
the same manners were transmitted from one genera- 
tion to another ; my friend alone was an inestimable 
treasure ; my name was not totally forgotten, and all 
were ambitious to welcome the arrival of a stranger 
and the return of a fellow- citizen. The first winter 
was given to a general embrace, without any nice dis- 
crimination of persons and characters. After a more 
regular settlement, a more accurate survey, I discovered 
three solid and permanent benefits of my new situation. 
1. My personal freedom had been somewhat impaired 
by the House of Commons and the Board of Trade 5 but 
I was now delivered from the chain of duty and de- 
pendence, from the hopes and fears of political adven- 
ture ; my sober mind was no longer intoxicated by the 
fumes of party, and I rejoiced in my escape, as often as 
I read of the midnight debates which preceded the dis- 
solution of Parliament. 2. My English economy had 
been that of a solitary bachelor who might afford some 
occasional dinners. In Switzerland I enjoyed at every 
meal, at every hour, the free and pleasant conversatitm of 
the friend of my youth ; and my daily table was always 
provided for the reception of one or two extraordinary 
guests. Our importance in society is less a positive than 
a relative weight : in London I w^as lost in the crowd ; 
I ranked with the first families of Lausanne, and my 
style of prudent expense enabled me to maintain a fair 
balance of reciprocal civilities. 8. Instead of a small 
house between a street and a stable-yard, I began to 



214 MEMOIRS OF 

occupy a spacious and convenient mansion, connected 
on the north side with the city, and open on the south 
to a beautiful and boundless horizon. A garden of 
four acres had been laid out by the taste of Mr. Dey- 
verdun ; from the garden a rich scenery of meadows 
and vineyards descends to the Leman lake, and the 
prospect far beyond the lake is crowned by the stu- 
pendous mountains of Savoy. My books and my ac- 
quaintance had been first united in London j but this 
happy position of my library in town and country was 
finally reserved for Lausanne. Possessed of every com- 
fort in this triple alliance, I could not be tempted 
to change my habitation with the changes of the 
seasons. 

My friends had been kindly apprehensive that I 
should not be able to exist in a Swiss town at the foot 
of the Alps, after having so long conversed with the 
first men of the first cities of the world. Such lofty 
connections may attract the curious and gratify the 
vain ; but I am too modest, or too proud, to rate my 
own value by that of my associates } and whatsoever 
may be the fame of learning or genius, experience has 
shown me that the cheaper qualifications of politeness 
and good sense are of more useful currency in the com- 
merce of life. By many conversation is esteemed as a 
theatre or a school: but after the morning has been 
occupied by the labors of the library, I wish to unbend 
rather than to exercise my mind ; and in the interval 
between tea and supper I am far from disdaining the 
innocent amusement of a game at cards. Lausanne is 
peopled by a numerous gentry, w^hose companicmable 
idleness is seldom disturbed by the pursuits of avarice 
or ambition ; the women, though confined to a domestic 
education, are endowed for the most part with more 



EDWARD GIBBOX 215 

taste and knowledge than their husbands and brothers ; 
but the decent freedom of both sexes is equally remote 
from the extremes of simplicity and refinement. I shall 
add, as a misfortune rather than a merit, that the situ- 
ation and beauty of the Pays de Yaud, the long habits 
of the English, the medical reputation of Dr. Tissot, 
and the fashion of viewing the mountains and glaciers, 
have opened us on all sides to the incursions of foreign- 
ers. The visits of M. and Madame Necker, of Prince 
Henry of Prussia, and of Mr. Fox, may form some 
pleasing exceptions ; but, in general, Lausanne has 
appeared most agreeable in my eyes when we have 
been abandoned to our own society. I had frequently 
seen M. Necker, in the summer of 1784, at a coun- 
try-house near Lausanne, where he composed his 
*' Treatise on the Administration of the Finances.'^ I 
have since, in October, 1790, visited him in his pres- 
ent residence, the castle and barony of Copet, near 
Geneva. Of the merits and measures of that states- 
man various opinions may be entertained ; but all im- 
partial men must agree in their esteem of his integrity 
and patriotism. 

In the month of August, 1784, Prince Henry of 
Prussia, in his way to Paris, passed three days at 
Lausanne. His military conduct has been praised 
by professional men ; his character has been vili- 
fied by the wit and malice of a demon ; * but I was 
flattered by his affability, and entertained by his con- 
versation. 

In his tour to Switzerland (September, 1788) Mr. 
Fox gave me two days of free and private society. 
He seemed to feel, and even to envy, the happiness 
of my situation } while I admired the powers of a 

* Memoire Secret de la Cour de Berlin, par Mirabeau. 



216 MEMOIRS OF 

superior man, as they are blended in his attractive 
character with the softness and simplicity of a child. 
Perhaps no human being was ever more perfectly 
exempt from the taint of malevolence, vanity, or false- 
hood. 

My transmigration from London to Lausanne could 
not be effected without interrupting the course of my 
historical labors. The hurry of my departure, the joy 
of my arrival, the delay of my tools, suspended their 
progress ; and a full twelvemonth was lost before I 
could resume the thread of regular and daily industry. 
A number of books most requisite and least common 
had been previously selected ; the academical library 
of Lausanne, which I could use as my own, contained 
at least the fathers and councils } and I have derived 
some occasional succor from the public collections of 
Berne and Geneva. The fourth volume was soon ter- 
minated by an abstract of the controversies of the 
Incarnation, which the learned Dr. Prideaux was 
apprehensive of exposing to profane eyes. It had 
been the original design of the learned Dean Prideaux 
to write the history of the ruin of the Eastern church. 
In this work it would have been necessary, not only 
to unravel all those controversies which the Chris- 
tians made about the hypostatical union, but also to 
unfold all the niceties and subtle notions which each 
sect entertained concerning it. The pious historian 
was apprehensive of exposing that incomprehensi- 
ble mystery to the cavils and objections of unbe- 
lievers ; and he durst not, ^^ seeing the nature of this 
book, venture it abroad in so wanton and lewd an 
age." * 

In the fifth and sixth volumes the revolutions of the 
* See Preface to tlie Life of Mahomet, pp. 10, 11. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 217 

Empire and the world are most rapid^ various, and 
instructive ; and the Greek or Eoman historians are 
checked by the hostile narratives of the barbarians of 
the East and the West.* 

It was not till after many designs^ and many trials, 
that I preferred, as I still prefer, the method of group- 
ing my picture by nations ; and the seeming neglect 
of chronological order is surely compensated by the 
superior merits of interest and perspicuity. The style 
of the first volume is, in my opinion, somewhat crude 
and elaborate ; in the second and third it is ripened into 
ease, correctness, and numbers ; but in the three last 
I may have been seduced by the facility of my pen, and 
the constant habit of speaking one language and writ- 
ing another may have infused some mixture of Gallic 
idioms. Happily for my eyes, I have always closed 
my studies with the day, and commonly with the 
morning ; and a long but temperate labor has been ac- 
complished without fatiguing either the mind or body ; 
but when I computed the remainder of my time and 
my task, it was apparent that, according to the season 
<^)f publication, the delay of a month would be produc- 
tive of that of a year. I was now straining for the 
goal, and in the last winter many evenings were bor- 
rowed from the social pleasures of Lausanne. I could 
now wish that a pause, an interval, had been allowed 
for a serious revisal. 

1 have presumed to mark the moment of conception : 
I shall now commemorate the hour of my final deliver- 
ance. It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th 

* I have followed the indioious precept of the Abhe de Mably (Maniere 
d'ecrire I'llistoire, p. 110), avUo advises the historian not to dwell too 
minutely on the decay of the Eastern Empire, but to consider the bar- 
barian conquerors as a more worthy subject of his narrative. " Fas est 
et ab hoste doceri." 



218 MEMOIRS OF 

of June 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 
that I wrote the last Ihies of the last page, in a sum- 
mer-house m my garden. After laying down my pen, 
I took several turns in a herceau, or covered walk of 
acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, 
the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, 
the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was re- 
flected from the waters, and all nature was silent. I 
will not dissemble the first emotions of joy on recovery 
of my freedom, and perhaps the establishment of my 
fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober 
mel^choly was spread over my mind, by the idea that 
I had taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreea- 
ble companion, and that whatsoever might be the 
future date of my History, the life of the historian must 
be short and precarious. 

I will add two facts which have seldom occurred in 
the composition of six, or at least of five, quartos. 1. 
My first rough manuscript, without any intermediate 
copy, has been sent to the press. 2. Not a sheet has 
been seen by any human eyes excepting those of the 
author and the printer : the faults and the merits are 
exclusively my own. 

I cannot help recollecting a much more extraordi- 
nary fact, which is affirmed of himself by Eetif de la 
Bretorme, a voluminous and original writer of French 
novels. He labored, and may still labor, in the hum- 
ble office of corrector to a printing-house ; but this 
office enabled him to transport an entire volume from 
his mind to the press; and his work was given to 
the public without ever having been written by the 
pen. 

After a quiet residence of four years, during which I 
had never moved ten miles from Lausanne, it was not 



EDWARD GIBBON. 219 

without some reluctance and terror that I undertook, in 
a journey of two hundred leagues, to cross the moun- 
tains and the sea. Yet this formidable adventure was 
achieved without danger or fatigue ; and at the end of 
a fortnight I found myself in Lord Sheffield's house 
and library, safe, happy, and at home. 

During the whole time of my residence in England 
I was entertained at Sheffield Place and in Downing 
Street by his hospitable kindness^ and the most 
pleasant period was that which I passed in the do- 
mestic society of the family. In the larger circle of 
the metropolis I observed the country and the inhabi- 
tants with the knowledge, and without the prejudices, 
of an Englishman ; but I rejoiced in the apparent 
increase of wealth and prosperity, which might be 
fairly divided between the spirit of the nation and the 
wisdom of the minister. All party -resentment was 
now lost in oblivion ; since I was no man's rival, no 
man was my enemy. 1 felt the dignity of indepen- 
dence ; and as I asked no more, I was satisfied with 
the general civilities of the world. The house in 
London which I frequented with most pleasure and 
assiduity was that of Lord North. After the loss of 
power and of sight, he was still happy in himself and 
his friends ; and my public tribute of gratitude and 
esteem could no longer be suspected of any interested 
motive. Before my departure from England, I was 
present at the august spectacle of Mr. Hastings's trial 
ill Westminster hall. It is not my province to ab- 
solve or condemn the governor of India;* but Mr. 
Sheridan's ek^quence commanded my applause ; nor 
could I hear without emotion the personal compli- 

* He considered the persecution of that hijjlily respectable person to 
have arisen from party views. S. 



220 MEMOIRS OF 

inent which he paid me in the presence of the British 
nation.* 

As the publication of my three last volumes was the 
principal object^ so it was the first care of my English 
journey. The previous arrangements with the book- 
seller and the prhiter were settled in my passage 
through London, and the proofs, which I returned 
more correct, were transmitted every post from the 
press to Sheffield Place. The length of the operation 
and the leisure of the country allowed some time to 
review my manuscript. Several rare and useful books, 
the Assises de Jerusalem, Ramusius de Bello C. P*^°, 
the Greek Acts of the Synod of Florence, the Statuta 
Urbis Romse, etc., were procured, and I introduced in 
their proper places the supplements which they af- 
forded. The impression of the fourth volume had 
consumed three months. Our common interest required 
that we should move with a quicker pace; and Mr. 
Strahan fulfilled his engagement, which few printers 
could sustain, of delivering every week three thousand 
copies of nine sheets. The day of publication was, 
however, delayed, that it might coincide with the fifty- 
first anniversary of my own birthday ; the double 
festival was celebrated by a cheerful literary dinner at 
Mr. Cadell's house ; and I seemed to blush while they 
read an elegant compliment from Mr. Hayley, whose 
poetical talents had more than once been employed in 
the praise of his friend. Before Mr. Hayley inscribed 
with my name his epistles on history, I was not 
acquainted with that amiable man and elegant poet. 
He afterwards thanked me in verse for my second and 

* He said the facts that made up tlie volume of narrative were un- 
paralleled in atrociousness ; and that nothing equal in criminality was to 
be traced either in ancient or modern history, ni the correct periods of 
Tacitus, or the luminous j)agc of G ibbon. Morning Chronicle, J une 14, 1788. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 221 

third volumes; and in the summer of 1781 the Eoman 
Eagle * (a proud title) accepted the invitation of the 
English Sparrow who chirped in the groves of Eartham, 
near Chichester. As most of the former purchasers 
were naturally desirous of completing their sets, the 
sale of the quarto edition was quick and easy ; and an 

* A CARD OF INVITATION TO MR. GIBBON, 

AT BllTGHTHELMSTONE, 1781. 

An English sparrow, pert and free, 
Who chirps l)eneath liis native tree. 
Hearing tlie Roman eagle 's near, 
And feeling more respect tlian fear. 
Thus, with united love and awe, 
Invites him to his shed of straw. 

Tho' he is hut a twittering sparrow. 
The field he hops in rather narrow. 
When nohler plumes attract his view 
He ever pays them homage due ; 
He looks with reverential wonder 
On him whose talons l)ear ihe thunder. 
Nor could the jackdaws e'er inveigle 
His voice to vilify the eagle ; 
Tho' issuing from the holy towers 
In which they l)uild their warmest bowers, 
Their sovereign's haunt they slyly search. 
In hopes to catch him on his perch 
(For Pindar says, beside his God 
The thunder- l)earing bird will nod) ; 
Then peeping round his still retreat. 
They pick from underneath his feet 
Some molted feather hf^ lets M], 
And swear he cannot fly at all. 

Lord of the sky ! whose pounce can tear 
These croakers that infest the air, 
Trust him, the sparrow loves to sing 
The praise of tliy imperial wing ! 
He thinks thou 'It deem him, on his word, 
An honest though familiar bird ; 
And hopes thou soon wilt condescend 
To look upon thy little friend ; 
That he may boast around his grove 
A visit from the bird of Jove. 



222 MEMOIRS OF 

octavo size was printed, to satisfy at a cheaper rate 
the puhlic demand. The conclusion of my work was 
generally read, and variously judged. The style has 
been exposed to much academical criticism ; a relig- 
ious clamor was revived; and the reproach of inde- 
cency has been loudly echoed by the rigid censors of 
morals. I never could understand the clamor that has 
been raised against the indecency of my three last vol- 
umes. 1. An equal degree of freedom in the former 
part, especially in the first volume, had passed with- 
out reproach. 2. I am justified in painting the man- 
ners of the times ; the vices of Theodora form an 
essential feature in the reign and character of Justin- 
ian ; and the most naked tale in my history is told by 
the Rev. Mr. Joseph Warton, an instructor of youth 
(Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope, pp. 322- 
324). My English text is chaste, and all licentious 
passages are left in the obscurity of a learned language. 
^' Le Latin dans ses mots brave I'honnetete," says the 
correct Boileau, in a country and idiom more scrupulous 
than our own. Yet, upon the whole, the History of 
the Decline and Fall seems to have struck root both 
at home and abroad, and may perhaps a hundred years 
hence still continue to be abused, I am less flattered 
by Mr. Porson^s high encomium on the style and spirit 
of my History, than I am satisfied with his honorable 
testhnony to my attention, diligence, and accuracy; 
those humble virtues, which religious zeal had most 
audaciously denied. The sweetness of his praise is 
tempered by a reasonable mixture of acid. As the 
book may not be common in England, I shall tran- 
scribe my own character from the ^^Bibliotheca His- 
torica " of Meuselius,* a learned and laborious German. 

* Vol. IV. Part I. pp. 343, 344. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 223 

^^ Summis sevi nostri historicis Gibbons sine dubio 
adnume randiis est. Inter capitolii ruinas stans, pri- 
mum hujus operis scribendi consilium cepit. Floren- 
tissimos \itse annos colligendo et laborando eidem 
impendit. Enatum inde monumentum sere perennius, 
licet passim appareant sinistre dicta, minus perfecta, 
veritati non satis consentanea. Videmus quidem ubique 
fere studium scrutandi veritatemque scribendi maxi- 
mum : tamen sine Tillemontio duce' ubi scilicet hujus 
historia iinitur saepius noster titubat atque hallucinatur. 
Quod vel maxime fit, ubi de rebus ecclesiasticis vel 
de jurisprudentia Romana (Tom. IV.) tradit, et in aliis 
locis. Attamen nsevi hujus generis baud impediunt 
quo minus operis summan et oiKouofjuav prseclare dis- 
positam^ delectum rerum sapientissimum, argutum 
quoque interdum, dictionemque sen stylum historico 
seque ac philosopho dignissimum^ et vix a quoque alio 
Anglo, Humio ac Robertsono hand exceptis (prcerep- 
turn f), vehementer laudemus, atque sseculo nostro de 

hujusmodi historia gratulemur Gibbonus adver- 

sarios cum in tum extra patriam nactus est, quia pro- 
pagationem religionis Christianfe, non, ut vulgo fieri 
solet, aut more theologorum, sed ut historicum et phi- 
losophum decet, exposuerat." 

The French, Italian, and German translations have 
been executed with various success ; but, instead of 
patronizing, I should willingly suppress such imper- 
fect copies, which injure the character, while they 
propagate the name of the author. The first volume 
had been feebly, though faithfully, translated into 
French by M. Le Clerc de Septchenes, a young gen- 
tleman of a studious character and liberal fortune. 
After his decease the work was continued by two 
manufacturers of Paris, MM. Desmuniers and Cant- 



224 MEMOIRS OF 

well ; but the former is now an active member of the 
National Assembly, and the undertaking languishes in 
the hands of his associate. The superior merit of the 
interpreter, or his language, inclines me to prefer the 
Italian version: but I wish it were in my power to 
read the German, which is praised by the best judges. 
The Irish pirates are at once my friends and my 
enemies. But I cannot be displeased with the two 
numerous and correct impressions which have been 
published for the use of the Continent at Basil in 
Switzerland. The conquests of our language and 
literature are not confined to Europe alone, and a 
writer who succeeds in London is speedily read on 
the banks of the Delaware and the Ganges. 

In the preface of the fourth volume, while I gloried 
in the name of an Englishman, I announced my ap- 
proaching return to the neighborhood of the lake of 
Lausanne. This last trial confirmed my assurance 
that I had wisely chosen for my own happiness ; nor 
did I once, in a year's visit, entertain a wish of 
settling in my native country. Britain is the free 
and fortunate island ; but where is the spot in which 
I could unite the comforts and beauties of my estab- 
lishment at Lausanne ? The tumult of London aston- 
ished my eyes and ears ; the amusements of public 
places were no longer adequate to the trouble ; the 
clubs and assemblies were filled with new faces and 
young men; and our best society, our long and late 
dinners, would soon have been prejudicial to my 
health. Without any share in the political wheel, I 
must be idle and insignificant ; yet the most splendid 
temptations would not have enticed me to engage a 
second time in the servitude of Parliament or ofiice. 
At Tunbridge, some weeks after the publication of 



EDWARD GIBBON. 225 

my History, I reluctantly quitted Lord and Lady Shef- 
field; and with a young Swiss friend, whom I had 
introduced to the English world, I pursued the road 
of Dover and Lausanne. My habitation was embel- 
lished in my absence, and the last division of books, 
which followed my steps, increased my chosen library 
to the number of between six and seven thousand 
volumes. My seraglio was ample, my choice was 
free, my appetite was keen. After a full repast on 
Homer and Aristophanes, I involved myself in the 
philosophic maze of the writings of Plato, of which 
the dramatic is perhaps more interesting than the 
argumentative part ; but I stepped aside into every 
path of in(]uiry which reading or reflection accidentally 
opened. 

Alas ! the joy of my return and my studious ar- 
dor were soon damped by the melancholy state of 
my friend Mr. Deyverdun. His health and spirits had 
long suffered a gradual decline ; a succession of apo- 
plectic fits announced his dissoluticm; and before he 
expired, those who loved him could not wish for the 
continuance of his life. The voice of reason might 
congratulate his deliverance, but the feelings of nature 
and friendship could be subdued only by time : his 
amiable character was still alive in my remembrance; 
each room, each walk, was imprinted with our com- 
mon footsteps ; and I should blush at my own phil- 
osophy, if a long interval of study had not preceded 
and followed the death of my friend. By his last 
will he left to me the option of purchasing his house 
and garden, or of possessing them during my life, on 
the payment either of a stipulated price, or of an easy 
retribution to his kinsman and heir. I should prob- 
ably have been tempted by the demon of property^ 



226 MEMOIRS OF 

if some legal difficulties had not been started against 
my title ; a contest would have been vexatious, doubt- 
ful, and invidious; and the heir most gratefully 
subscribed an agreement, which rendered my life- 
possession more perfect, and his future condition 
more advantageous. Yet I had often revolved the 
judicious lines in which Pope answers the objections 
of his long-sighted friend : — 

" Pity to build without or child or wife ; 
"Why, you '11 enjoy it only all your life : 
"Well, if the use be mine, does it concern one, 
"Whether the name belong to Pope or Vernon ? " 

The certainty of my tenure has allowed me to lay out 
a considerable sum in improvements and alterati(ms : 
they have been executed with skill and taste ; and few 
men of letters, perhaps, in Europe, are so desirably 
lodged as myself. But I feel, and with the decline 
of years I shall more painfully feel, that I am alone 
in paradise. Among the circle of my acquaintance at 
Lausanne, I have gradually acquired the solid and 
tender friendship of a respectable family; the four 
persons of whom it is composed are all endowed with 
the virtues best adapted to their age and situation; 
and I am encouraged to love the parents as a brother, 
and the children as a father. Every day we seek and 
find the opportunities of meeting ; yet even this valu- 
able connection cannot supply the loss of dcnnestic 
society. 

Within the last two or three years our tranquillity 
has been clouded by the disorders of France ; many 
families at Lausanne were alarmed and affected by the 
terrors of an impending bankruptcy ; but the revolu- 
tion, or rather the dissolution of the kingdom, has 
been heard and felt in the adjacent lands. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 227 

I beg leave to subscribe my assent to Mr. Burke^s 
creed on the revolution of France. I admire bis elo- 
quence, I approve bis politics, I adore bis cbivalry, and 
I can almost excuse bis reverence for cburcb estab- 
lisbments. I bave sometimes tbougbt of writing a 
dialogue of tbe dead, in wbicb Lucian, Erasmus, and 
Voltaire sbould mutually acknowledge tbe danger of 
exposing an old superstition to tbe contempt of tbe 
blind and fanatic multitude. 

A swarm of emigrants of botb sexes, wbo escaped 
from tbe public ruin, bas been attracted by tbe vicinity, 
tbe manners, and tbe language of Lausanne ; and our 
narrow habitations in town and country are now occu- 
pied by tbe first names and titles of tbe departed mon- 
archy. These noble fugitives are entitled to our pity; 
they may claim our esteem 5 but they cannot, in their 
present state of mind and fortune, much contribute to 
our amusement. Instead of looking down as calm 
and idle spectators on the theatre of Europe, our do- 
mestic harmony is somewhat imbittered by tbe infu- 
sion of party spirit: our ladies and gentlemen assume 
tbe character of self-taught politicians ; and tbe sober 
dictates of wisdom and experience are silenced by the 
clamor of the triumphant democrates. The fanatic 
missionaries of sedition bave scattered the seeds of dis- 
content in our cities and villages, which bave flourished 
above two hundred and fifty years without fearing the 
approach of war or feeling tbe weight of government. 
Many individuals, and some communities, appear to 
be infected with the Gallic frenzy, the wild theories 
of equal and boundless freedom ; but I trust that the 
body of tbe people will be faithful to their sovereign 
and to themselves ; and I am satisfied that tbe faikn-e 
or success of a revolt would equally terminate in the 



228 MEMOIRS OF 

ruin of the country. While the aristocracy of Berne 
protects the happiness, it is superfluous to inquire 
whether it be founded in the rights, of man : the 
economy of the state is liberally supplied without the 
aid of taxes ; and the magistrates must reign with 
prudence and equity, since they are unarmed in tlie 
midst of an armed nation. 

The revenue of Berne, excepting some small duties, 
is derived from church lands, tithes, feudal rights^ and 
interest of money. The republic has nearly £500,000 
sterling in the English funds, and the amount of their 
treasure is unknown to the citizens themselves. For 
myself (may the omen be averted I) I can only declare, 
that the first stroke of a rebel drum would be the sig- 
nal of my immediate departure. 

When I contemplate the common lot of mortality, I 
must acknowledge that I have drawn a high prize in 
the lottery of life. The far greater part of the globe 
is overspread with barbarism or slavery : in the civil- 
ized world the most numerous class is condemned to 
ignorance and poverty ; and the double fortune of my 
birth in a free and enlightened country, in an honora- 
ble and wealthy family, is the lucky chance of an unit 
against millions. The general probability is about 
three to one, that a new-born infant will not live to 
complete his fiftieth year.^* I have now passed that 
age, and may fairly estimate the present value of my 
existence in the threefold division of mind^ body, and 
estate. 

1. The first and indispensable requisite of happi- 

* See Buffon, Supplement a I'Histoire Naturclle, Tom. VII. p. 158 - 164 : 
of a given number of new-born infants, one lialf, by the fault of nature or 
man, is extinguished before the age of puberty and reason. A melancholy 
calculation 1 



EDWARD GIBBON. 229 

ness is a clear conscience, unsullied by the reproach 
or remembrance of an unworthy action : — 

" Hie murus aheneus esto. 
Nil conscire sibi, nulla pallescere culpa." 

I am endowed with a cheerfd temper, a moderate 
sensibility, and a natural disposition to repose rather 
than to activity : some mischievous appetites and 
habits have perhaps been corrected by philosophy or 
time. The love of study, a passion which derives 
fresh vigor from enjoyment, supplies each day, each 
hour, with a perpetual source of independent and 
rational pleasure ; and I am not sensible of any decay 
of the mental faculties. The original soil has been 
highly improved by cultivation ] but it may be ques- 
tioned whether some flowers of fancy, some grateful 
errors, have not been eradicated with the weeds of 
prejudice. 2. Since I have escaped from the long 
perils of my childhood, the serious advice of a physi- 
cian has seldom been requisite. ^' The madness of 
superfluous health " I have never known, but my 
tender constitution has been fortified by time, and the 
inestimable gift of the sound and peaceful slumbers of 
infancy may be imputed both to the mind and body. 
3. I have already described the merits of my society 
and situation ; but these enjoyments would be taste- 
less or bitter, if their possession were not assured by an 
annual and adequate supply. According to the scale 
of Switzerlaud, I am a rich man ; and I am indeed 
rich, since my income is superior to my expense, and 
my expense is equal to my wishes. My friend Lord 
Sheffield has kindly relieved me from the cares to 
wliich my taste and temper are most adverse. Shall 
I add, that since the f lilure of my first wishes I have 



230 MEMOIRS OF 

never entertained any serious tliou^o'lits of a matri- 
monial connection. 

1 am disgusted with the affectation of men of letters, 
who compLiin that they have renounced a substance 
for a shadow, and that their fame (which sometimes 
is no insupportable w^eight) affords a poor compen- 
sation for envy, censure, and persecution.* My own 
experience, at least, has taught me a very different 
lesson ; twenty happy years have been animated by 
the labor of my History, and its success has given me 
a name, a rank, a character, in the world, to which I 
should not otherwise have been entitled. The free- 
dom of my writings has indeed provoked an implaca- 
ble tribe; but as I was safe from the stings, I was 
soon accustomed to the buzzing of the hornets ; my 
nerves are not tremblingly alive, and my literary tem- 
per is so happily framed that I am less sensible of 
pain than of pleasure. The rational pride of an au- 
thor may be offended, rather than flattered, by vague 
indiscriminate praise } but he cannot, he should not, 
be indifferent to the fair testimonies of private and 
public esteem. Even his moral sympathy may be 
gratified by the idea, that now, in the present hour, 
he is imparting some degree of amusement or knowl- 
edge to his friends in a distant land ; that one day his 
mind will be familiar to the grandchildren of those 
who are yet unborn. f I cannot boast of the friend- 

* Mr. d'Alemhert relates, that as lie was walking in the gardens of Sans 
Soiici with the King of Prus^in, Frederick said to him, " Do you see that 
old woman, a poor weeder, asleep on that sunny hank? She is prohahly 
a more liapi\v heing than either of us." The king and the philosopher 
may speak for themselves ; for my part, I do not envy the old Avoman. 

+ In the first of ancient or modern ronuuiees (Tom Jones) tlds ))roud 
sentiment, this feast of fancy, is enjoyed hy the genius of Fielding: 
"Come, hright love of fame, etc., fill my ravished fancy with the hopes 



EDWARD GIBBON. 231 

ship or favor of princes 5 the patronage of English lit- 
erature has long since been devolved on our book- 
sellers, and the measure of their liberality is the least 
ambiguous test of our common success. Perhaps the 
golden mediocrity of my fortune has contributed to 
fortify my application. 

The present is a fleeting moment; the past is no 
more ; and our prospect of futurity is dark and doubt- 
ful. This day may possibly be my last ; but the laws 
of probability, so true in general, so fallacious in par- 
ticular, still -allow about fifteen years.* I shall soon 
enter into the period which, as the most agreeable of 
his long life, was selected by the judgment and ex- 
perience of the sage Fontenelle. His choice is ap- 
proved by the eloquent historian of nature, who fixes 
our moral happiness to the mature season in which 
our passions are supposed to be calmed, our duties 
fulfilled, our ambition satisfied, our fame and fortune 
established on a solid basis, f In private conversation 
that great and amiable man added the weight of his 

of charming- nges yet to come. Foretell me tliat some tender miid, whose 
grandmo'.lisr is yet unborn, hereafter, when, under the fictitious name of 
Sophia, she reads the real -worth which once existed in my Charlotte, 
shall from her sympathetic breast send forth the heaving sigh. Do thou 
teach me not only to foresee but to enjoy, nay even to feed on future 
praise. Comfort me l)y the solemn assurance, tliat when the little parlor 
in Avliich I sit at this moment shall be reduced to a worse-fnrnislied box, 
I shall l)e read with honor by those Avho never knew nor saw me, and 
whom I shall neither know nor see." Book XIII. Cliaj). I. 

* Mr. Buifon, from our disregard of the possibility of death within the 
four-and-twenty hours, concludes that a chance which falls below or rises 
above ten thousand to one will never affect the hopes or fears of a rea- 
sonable man. The fact is true, but our courage is the effect of thought- 
lessness rather than of reflection. If a public lottery were drawn for the 
choice of an immediate victim, and if our name were inscribed on one of 
the ten thousand tickets, should we be perfectly easy ? 

+ See Buffon. 



232 MEMOIRS OF EDWARD GIBBON. 

own experience : and this autumnal felicity might be 
exemplified in the lives of Voltaire^ Hume, and many 
other men of letters. I am far more inclined to em- 
brace than to dispute this comfortable doctrine. I 
will not suppose any premature decay of the mind or 
body ; but I must reluctantly observe that two causes, 
the abbreviation of tnne and the failure of hope, will 
always tinge with a browner shade the evening of 
life.* 

* The proportion of a part to tlie whole is the only standard hy which 
we can measure the length of our existence. At the age of twenty one 
year is a tenth, perhaps, of the time Avhicli has elapsed within our con- 
sciousness and memory : at the age of tifty it is no more than the fortieth, 
and this relative value continues to decrease till the last sands are shaken 
hy the hand of death. This reasoning may seem metaphysical ; hut on a 
trial it will he found satisfactory and just. The warm desires, the long 
expectations of youtli, are iounded on the ignorance of themselves and 
of the world -. they are gradually damped hy time and experience, hy 
disappointment and possession; and after the middle season the crowd 
must he content to remain at the foot of the mountain, while the few 
wlio have climl)ed the summit aspire to descend or expect to fall. In old 
age the consolation of hope is reserved for the tenderness of parents avIio 
commence a new life in their children ; .the faith of enthusiasts who sing 
liallelujahs ahove the clouds ; and the vanity of authors who presume the 
immortality of their name and writings. 




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